Everything To Lose
by Heptagon
Summary: [Complete] There are worse things than death. But sometimes you just can't afford to die. Because sometimes it would cost you more than your life. Sometimes it would cost you everything. PostHogwarts, HBPcompatible, HGDM
1. Chapter 1: Things have changed

**Author's Notes: **

This is a Hermione/Draco story and sequel to Gryffindor Foolishness. I can't and won't force you to read that before (though it's an one-shot and not too long), but some things might seem a bit weird to you if you don't read it first. This fic is not an one-shot.

**Genre: **Romance/Humor/Angst, just like Gryffindor Foolishness, but this is definitely a lot more Angsty than GF.

**Warning! **Contains torture and blood, lots of it. (Well, perhaps not that much. For example, only two chapters out of ten have such descriptions). Not the first chapter though, nor the second... But the third... Well, I'm going to warn you in the beginning of each chapter that does contain an excess of blood and torture. (I told you it was going to be angsty.)

_**So, read and enjoy! (And leave a review if you don't mind.)**_

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.

---

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 1: Things have changed**  
In which Harry realizes that things have changed and makes plans to kill Voldemort with arsenic._

A hesitant knock sounded on the bedroom door. When no answer came, he knocked again, this time calling out for her as well.

"Mione?"

All remained as quiet as before. But he had perfected his instincts over the months of war, and he recognized the silence as one made by those pretending not to be there. Besides, he knew his friend – she would not go out after a night as such. She would be too tired and hurt to do that. Oh yes, she had had a rough night, and now, only a couple of hours later, he was there to disturb her again. He didn't like it, but he couldn't prevent it from happening. If he didn't get her, someone else would. Someone less pleasant. At least he could try to make it a little easier for her.

"I know you're in there, Mione. So I suggest you let me in before I do it myself."

Another moment of silence during which he was holding his breath, and then…

"Oh, for Merlin's sake, sod off, Potter."

Harry smiled. At least she wasn't alone. Oh, had someone told him a year ago that he would be actually glad to have his arch-nemeses together with his best friend, well… to say that he would have thought them completely and utterly insane would have been a major understatement. But now, after what had happened earlier, he was not only glad that she was with someone, he was even glad that she was with him. Strange how much some things can change.

"Mione, this is important. You know I wouldn't bother you, not tonight, if it were anything else than a matter most crucial."

He was hoping to catch her attention with that, although it was not entirely true, but he wanted to face her when delivering his message. And he wanted to make sure she was all right, or at least – better.

"Are you 107 percent sure this can't wait till tomorrow, Harry?"

Her voice was suspicious. She, after all, had her instincts perfected as well, and somehow she sensed that what he had to tell her wasn't of such utmost importance. Maybe because he had been so gradual in his approach – if it had been that crucial, he wouldn't have waited this long to tell her.

"I'm sure. Sorry, Mione."

"It's all right, Harry, come in."

He found them sitting on the bed together. His arms circled her waist and his head was on her shoulder whereas hers rested against his chest. Neither did move when he entered, other than raising their glances to meet his, one tired and annoyed, and the other just tired.

"What is it, Harry?" she asked at last.

"Moody wants to see you," Harry swallowed a bit nervously.

She knew what his 'matter most crucial' meant now. Moody was not someone to joke around with. After Dumbledore's death, he had taken over the position of the Head of the Order, saying that no one else would have any idea whatsoever how to do it without getting them all killed by the end of the week. He had also been as modest as to grunt that he really didn't want it, but since everyone else was so deeply underqualified, and he wouldn't like to have the Dark Lord rule over him, this was the only possibility. However, he never acted as a suffering martyr after that – he run the Order like his personal army. His word was the law, his orders were to obeyed, unless one wanted to spend the next 24 hours chained to the wall or hanged from the ceiling by chains. Or, if one got extremely unlucky, he would simply ask them for a Talk. The room would be Silenced, of course, not to bother everybody in the radius of 50 miles. Yes, he believed that talking louder made it easier to understand. He was right, too, of course.

It was not a pretty thing getting caught with disobeying his orders, and Hermione had managed to do exactly that.

At that time, she hadn't cared, though, and even now she was not frightened either, just a little irritated that he wouldn't even let her have a good night sleep. But that was Moody. Nothing less could be expected from him.

And, after all, it wasn't like this was the first time she had earned a little yelling session with Moody, even though those who knew her Thou-Shalt-Not-Break-A-Rule attitude at school would have found it simply incredible. Yes, things had changed.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before lifting up her head and starting to move out of his embrace.

"The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can forgot all about this stupid day."

It was unclear who she had said this to, but Harry had no doubt to whom her next sentence was directed, neither was its meaning lost to him.

"Well, not all of it," she had added as an afterthought with a small smile.

He was more than reluctant to let her go. Tonight had not been too mild on him either.

"I'll come with you," he insisted, tightening his grip on her.

"You better not. Unless you want to spend the next three days in your little furry state."

Now with Dumbledore gone and McGonagall busy with Hogwarts, no one was there to restrain Moody. Even though it hadn't been him to do the deed the first time, he had found it a rather good idea, and used it on a couple occasions as well. Malfoy hadn't been very pleased with that, or the fact that instead of turning him back, the other occupants of the room had only pointed their fingers at him and laughed themselves sick. Well, perhaps the fact that the other occupants had been Scarhead and Weasel might have played some part in that, but he had been simply too furious to care. Yes, they had had a good laugh, until their third half had entered, apprised the situation with a single glance, picked him up from the floor, turned around, and walked away without saying a word. Of course, it would have been even better if she had changed him back instead of taking him to her room and glaring at him for half an hour. Well, at least she changed him back eventually. Perhaps because she didn't fancy kissing a ferret. Although she didn't kiss him that day. Maybe she would have, if he hadn't yelled at her and stormed out of the room. Scarhead and Weasel kept snorting every time they saw him after that for a whole week. He glared at them. But whenever he glared at her, she just smiled sadly.

Harry regarded him with a cool surprise, realizing that he wasn't going to retort to that, and with further astonishment noticing the worry in his eyes. He who always kept his face blank and devoid of any emotion. Always had, that is. And Harry understood that he had no reason to be surprised at that, after all, wasn't it him who had told them the depth of their love just a mere hours ago? But that was because they had made him so mad, with all yelling into his ears and yelling at each other when every observer could tell they were really hurting with each other's pain. And so he had cried out the truth to them, but that didn't mean he found it easy to believe. Oh, he did believe it, but it was just so hard not to be surprised every time he saw more proof to it. Sometimes he forgot that things had changed. A lot.

"It's Moody," Hermione was currently saying. "Not Voldemort. Not one of his Death Eaters. He will yell at me for a little, and then I'll come back home. Take a nap while I'm gone – you look tired."

"So do you, Granger."

Harry rolled his eyes at that. He always called her Granger. And she didn't mind. Then again, she called him Ferret Boy, Bastard and a lot of similar names, recently also Slytherin's Cutest Kitty Cat (although she had to thank him, Harry, for that – the consequences of giving the Boy Wonder hell of a head-ache), and he didn't seem to mind either. If things kept changing the way they had so far, Harry thought, he would be having tea with Voldemort before long. Well, he could always poison his tea.

Harry came out of his reverie just in time to see the two share a kiss, and realized with surprise and horror, that it didn't really bother him. Yes, better mark next Wednesday as 'Tea with Tom'. Now, where could he get some arsenic?

However, the late realization that the sight didn't bother him, didn't mean it didn't bother someone else. Someone else, who had come to see what was keeping them, since Moody's bad mood seemed to get worse with every second she had him waiting. And a furious Moody in the same room with Harry, Hermione, and Malfoy was something he was more than happy to stop.

"Will you two cut it out already – it's a public place, after all!" he exclaimed his irritation.

"The last time I checked it was our bedroom," she snapped back, half-amused.

"And we have done much more **_private_** things here, for your information, Weasel."

Ron's ears suddenly became to match his hair.

Harry realized it was a much better idea to grin at his friend's embarrassment than to think about what Malfoy had just said. So perhaps he could bear them kissing just as well, but that didn't mean he wouldn't draw a line before some things. Way, way before them.

But as Ron remained red and quiet, he decided to take a pity on him, after all, he probably came here with a reason. But before he could open his mouth, someone beat him to it.

"So, Weasel, as it seems I'm not having the pleasure of seeing you leave, care to tell us what brought you to the public area of **_our_** bedroom?"

Yes, Harry mentally nodded, there was definitely some emphasis on the word 'our'. And she didn't even elbow him for saying that. She was either really, really tired, or really, really irritated with Ron. He concluded it was both. Ron wasn't very happy with Hermione being with Malfoy, and Hermione in turn wasn't very happy with Ron not being very happy with her being with Malfoy. Well, at least she was very happy being with Malfoy.

If Ron had caught the extra emphasis, he was doing his best not to show it.

"Moody is not very happy with you keeping him waiting," he hastily spoke his message.

Another one who was not being very happy with something.

"I guess I'll better go," Hermione sighed and made a lousy attempt at getting up. Ron rushed towards her, but Harry kept his place, fighting against his every instinct, knowing he wouldn't be the one to catch her. And he was right, just as he was right about it not being Ron either.

"You are too weak to go alone," he protested, as she determinedly tried to push him away. "You are too weak to go at all."

"It was just a head rush, I'll be fine," she assured, and after a few short tentative steps she walked out of the bedroom door.

"See you soon!" she waved him and disappeared, Ron hurrying to follow her after sending Malfoy an especially seething glare.

Harry remained for another moment, staring at the now empty bed for a while, before turning his glance to Malfoy.

"Is she all right?"

"What do you think, Potter?"

"She will be all right. She is strong," Harry said, not sure who he was trying to convince.

Malfoy remained silent but his glare was not as sharp as usually.

Harry turned to go.

"She only wanted to save you from Moody's anger."

"And why would Moody be angry with me?" his voice had a bit of surprise in it, the part he had been unable to suppress. It wasn't Moody or his anger that shocked him, and not even the fact that Hermione had tried to protect him from it, but Potter telling him this. Why would he say it? Since when did he care? Oh, yes, he cared for her, but she had left and now it were just the two of them.

"Because she didn't disobey him just for nothing. She had a reason. You are her weakness, and Moody doesn't like it."

And with that Wonder Boy walked out of the room, leaving behind an utterly confused and rather worried Draco Malfoy.


	2. Chapter 2: Let's Talk

**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter is not mine.

---

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 2: Let's Talk**  
In which Hermione has a Talk with Moody, and Ron has a Talk with Harry, and Malfoy is all alone with no one to talk to._

"Hermione… when he said private, he didn't mean… you-know-what, did he? I mean, you're not that serious yet, right? Right, Mione? Right?"

"Leave it be, Ronald," she half-whispered, reaching for the pot of Floo-powder on the mantelpiece, "I'll have Moody yelling at me, and I really don't need you to do the same."

"Sorry, Mione," he apologized and frowned. She hadn't answered his question. Perhaps because she didn't want to discuss it with him right now, but perhaps – and that option seemed rather more plausible – she didn't want to reply to him because she knew he wouldn't like the answer one bit. Much more plausible. She had said, after all, that she didn't want him to yell at her, and that pretty much had answered his question.

He silently fumed while Hermione stepped into the emerald flames and disappeared. This was all Harry's fault. They had noticed once that the glances passed between Malfoy and Hermione weren't quite full of hate and contempt. They had got suspicious of course, and done a little spying. And found out something they really didn't want to find out. And then he, Ron, had thought of the clever plan to break those two apart, but Harry, his best friend Harry, had said no.

He even had some ridiculous reason for that as well, something along the lines that one shouldn't mess with the course of nature and even if one messed with the course of nature, one **really** shouldn't mess with Hermione. She would find out they were behind it no matter what because she was smart, and then she would be very, very angry with them. And that meant she wouldn't want to see them for a long while, and that meant she would be spending even more time with Malfoy. Ron had then pointed out that perhaps doing so would help her realize what a prat he really is, and break up with him. Or at least it would make Malfoy realize how annoying Hermione can be in big amounts, and make him break up with her. Harry had replied that if this was indeed the situation, they would get tired of each other sooner or later. If they helped to quicken the process, it would be sooner, but then later Hermione would find out the truth and very ugly things would happen. But if they didn't try anything, it would happen later anyway, and Hermione would not be mad at them, and all the really ugly things would not take place.

Ron, however, was not a very patient man. And now it dawned on him that perhaps it had been a bad idea to listen to Harry.

"I can't believe you did **that** with Malfoy," he growled at the empty fireplace, then stepped into it and flooed away, never noticing the look on Harry's face, who happened to be standing just behind him.

Hermione was nowhere in sight when he reached Grimmauld Place 12. He stepped out of the fireplace, dusted himself off, and turned right in time to see Harry arrive.

"Hermione went to Moody?" he asked.

"Yeah, probably. She wasn't here when I came."

"I wonder why," said Harry with an excess of sarcasm and sat down at the kitchen table. Ron did the same.

"She should stay here tonight," the latter said at length.

"No, she shouldn't. She should go home."

"This is her home," Ron persisted.

"Home is where your heart is," mumbled Harry absently.

"Here," said Ron firmly.

"No, not here. There. And talking about that, you better stop it."

"Stop what?"

"Fighting against it. She is not very happy with you not being very happy for her being very happy with Malfoy."

"Wha?"

"I guess they won't get tired of each other after all. And the sooner you accept that, the sooner all of us can be happier."

"Harry, you can't be serious!"

"Well I am. Dead serious."

"The fact that they're not tired of each other means one thing and one thing only – we have to act! If nature didn't get the job done, we better do it ourselves."

Harry sighed. His best friend sometimes really was… insufferable.

Feeling the beginning of another headache, he rested his forehead in his arms.

"If only you had seen the look in his eyes. If only…"

He knew Ron wouldn't understand, or if he understood, he simply wouldn't believe it. Perhaps he should give up on him. Some things could not be told by others, some things one just had to learn by himself. Perhaps he had to learn it the hard way. With lots of screaming from Hermione. Perhaps some slapping as well. She would not be very happy to have Ron declaring an open war (or more like a secret war, but he would not keep her in the dark about Ron's plans) on her, but at least she had Malfoy to support and comfort her. And he would be there for Ron. And then, perhaps, one day in the very, very distant future, Ron would finally see them the way he did. Harry hoped he would be still alive then to tell him 'I told you so'.

---

"Death Eaters meeting at the Scarborough Castle. You're leaving in five minutes. The nature of the mission is intelligence. Gather as much information about their plans as you can. Go!" was the first thing Moody told her when she had closed the door behind her.

She stood there for a moment, trying to sort out whatever had just been said to her, but then gave up.

"Pardon?" she asked.

"You. Scarborough Castle. Mission."

"Now?" she asked wearily.

"Now."

"But… couldn't someone else go? Just this once."

"Hurt and tired, aren't you?"

She nodded sadly, too exhausted to show surprise at the concern the question seemed to contain.

"Well, that's your fault. If you had acted according to the plan, and not decided to pull off your little silly trick that could have got all of us killed, perhaps you wouldn't be that hurt and tired right now."

And through the hazy mist of her mind, Hermione suddenly understood.

"You're sending me out tonight as a punishment? But… but… doesn't that endanger the mission?"

"You didn't seem to care when it came to putting our last mission into danger."

"But… but…"

"Fight fire with fire, Granger. Either you take this mission and show your worth or I'll cast you out of the Order."

"Couldn't you just chain me to some dungeon wall somewhere?"

"And what good would that do? The meeting is today, and we've got no one else to spare. Except perhaps the ferret of yours."

"No!" Hermione exclaimed without a second thought. "I'll do it. Let me just go back to my place for a second and grab an Energy Potion."

Moody suddenly threw something small and blue towards her, and surprisingly, she caught it. It was a small vial with azure liquid.

"There's your potion. It should be enough for a couple of hours. Take this and go!"

Again he tossed something at her, only this time it was a simple black hooded cloak. Hermione put it on, drowned the potion in one gulp and raised her glance of stubbornness and determination. She would go on this stupid mission, she would succeed, she would show him what she was worth of. She could feel energy course through her veins, making her stronger by second. She was ready. She would show him. She would show all of them. Throw her out of the Order! Never.

Hermione stretched out her hand and formed her expression into one of superior confidence (something she had learned from Malfoy of course) as Moody let a small silver key fall into her palm and the familiar room was violently swept away from her.

---

The Weasel hated his guts. He understood it. He found it amusing. After all, he had snitched the girl of his dreams from right in front of his nose. But that was the silly git's own fault. The poor sod just couldn't keep a girl – no wonder, especially when he was competing with someone rich and handsome like him. Yes, the Weasel had had no hope once he had laid his eyes on the bookworm.

And he hated him for that. This was expected and reasonable. Of course, had he been something more than the coward he really was, he would have already done something about it. It wouldn't have worked, and he would have probably found himself at the receiving end of Granger's anger (bad place to be, he knew from personal experience), but at least he would've done something more than quietly boiling over with rage and cursing him under his breath.

Whoever thought Gryffindors were brave would have agreed that the Weasel was definitely missorted. A real Hufflepuff he was.

Nothing like his brave and clever bookworm. She was something most extraordinary, unique, singular. And she was all his. She had told him that, only the day before. Never thought he would hear those words from the wanna-be-independent Gryffindor, but then again, he would have never thought he would be in the situation to hear them, and to be exhilarated to hear them.

He knew that Scarface blamed all the strangeness of these days on the war. He blamed all of it on Scarface. Perhaps there was no legitimate reason behind it, but he really didn't need it. He had always blamed Potter for everything and he wasn't going to give it up now, just because he was shagging his best friend.

Some things would never change. Like him hating Potter. Like Potter hating him. The bad thing was, though, that the latter seemed to have changed somehow. One of the pillars of his world had come crashing down. First had fell when he had turned away from Voldemort and joined the side of light, second when he had taken an interest in a mudblood. Now with Potter's highly odd and disturbing behaviour another one had tumbled leaving only the last standing.

If Weasely started to get all chummy with him, he would most certainly go insane.

---

**Author's Notes:**

Yes, I'm being terrible with Moody. He's not really that bad. But it's fun to have him like this. :P

I really wouldn't mind some reviews. :)


	3. Chapter 3: Lion in the Mousetrap

**Disclaimer: **Harry Potter is not mine.

**Warning! **This chapter contains torture and blood!

---**   
**

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 3: Lion in the Mousetrap**  
In which bad things happen to good people and a dragon delivers the message to the furious ones._

They were furious. They were livid. They were boiling with rage. They were raving mad. They were ready and willing to kill. They were… paralyzed.

Harry and Ron had done the unthinkable of actually attacking their sweet and lovely Head of Order. With wands. And curses. And lots of yelling. But Moody, that old veteran of many smaller and larger wars, deflected their spells, took their wands and paralyzed them with the matter of mere seconds. And now they were lying on the floor, furious, livid and ferocious, not to mention even more willing to kill the very man looming above them and shouting at them with all his might. They were too angry to hear anything he was saying, though.

They had been in the kitchen, having tea and grabbing a bite, and everything had been fabulous until the fatal moment when Moody waltzed (or more precisely, didn't waltz) in, made some grumpy remark about the weather, and curtly informed them of having sent their best friend on a mission. Alone. Tonight.

Both Harry and Ron had been dumbstruck for which felt like hours, and during that time, Moody had already turned his back on them and started to leave, which was the only reason his left cheek was bloody now and he was angrier than they had ever seen him.

But they didn't care. All they cared about was that at the very same moment Hermione might be on the receiving end of an _Avada Kedavra._ There was nothing, absolutely nothing that could have made Ron more furious than he was, except perhaps if he had been able to read Harry's mind at the particular moment and found the thought that went like this – Malfoy will not be very happy to learn about this. But then, that flicker of a thought was gone, and all that remained was worry about Hermione and rage at Moody's deed.

---

Hermione, had she known what her two best friends were thinking about, would have been a little angry with them herself. _No confidence in me, have they, _she would have scowled.

However, she didn't know what they were thinking as at that moment she was sitting in the rain hidden by a rough stone from the ruins of the stupid Scarborough Castle and silently cursing about anything and everything.

Stupid castle. Stupid Death Eaters. Stupid Moody. Stupid war. Stupid Voldemort. Stupid Order. Stupid rain. Stupid mission. Stupid… stupid… stupid… Malfoy.

No, not Draco. He was not stupid. He was perhaps the only not stupid thing in this whole stupid world. Stupid world. Stupid night. Stupid weak Energy Potion. Stupid whoever made that weak Energy Potion. Stupid Snape for killing Dumbledore so that now they had to use some other stupid person to make the stupid potions, who was stupid enough to mess up a stupidly easy position as the Energy one.

Stupid Death Eaters for not showing up in their stupid meeting place so that she could get over and done with the stupid mission, out of the stupid rain to rest next to the only not stupid person in this whole stupid world and forget all about this stupid war for a while at least.

Stupid Moody for sending him out on a stupid mission on a stupid night as such.

Stupid Death Eaters for not choosing for their meeting place a building with an actual roof. Stupid rain. Stupid magic which could be detected so easily that she couldn't use it to stop herself from getting wet and probably catching a cold in the process as well.

Stupid Death Eaters for being late.

Stupid Moody.

---

Three hours later it was still raining. Hermione woke with a start, clutched her wand tighter and looked around nervously, berating herself for falling asleep on a mission. Although she knew, or at least hoped, that she hadn't actually slept long but probably woken up the second her eyes fluttered shut.

The Death Eaters were nowhere to be seen. No one was to be seen anywhere. And it was still raining heavily. Hurt, tired, sore and cold, Hermione finally stood up and looked around one last time before preparing to Apparate away.

But she never got that far because suddenly the dull voice of rain was cut through by a sharp wailing cry which raised higher and higher and higher until suddenly broke as if someone had covered the crier's mouth with their hand. Or drawn a knife through its heart. It was so shrill and unnatural that Hermione jumped and gripped her wand tighter. The silence that took over after the cry rang in her ears and she found herself more than terrified. She would have Apparated away then and there, not giving a damn about being brave and going to take a look of whatever it was, had it not repeated itself. This time the cry was not as piercing and surreal as it had been before and this time, to her great horror, she realized it formed a coherent word.

HELP!

Someone was crying for help. And by the sound of it, that someone was in desperate need of it. She turned towards the direction of the cry and started running as fast as she could.

---

Sitting once again at the kitchen table, Ron and Harry were glaring daggers at Moody, who was looking back at them with grim resolve. Lupin, saving the two boys from the iron grips of the old wizard, was standing behind them now, resting his hands on their shoulders to both reassure and restrain them. He was quite aware that should Moody get angry at him as well, he would find himself paralyzed on the floor before long.

And even though he wasn't too keen on the idea of lying motionless on the hard cold floor, his main reason behind this was not wanting to infuriate their Head of Order, who, despite his somewhat rough methods, knew what had to be done and got it done. With notably less amount of twinkles and lemon drops than their previous leader, but he got it done nevertheless.

"So you did not send Hermione on a mission?" he asked, when he decided that Harry and Ron were not as explosive as they had been any more.

"No," Moody croaked. "I didn't send her on a mission."

"But you told us…" Harry started fiercely but fell silent when Lupin squeezed his shoulder not too gently.

"I did send her out. I sent her out to think. Not fight, but think."

"But… but…"

"You sent her on a fake mission?" came from Lupin.

"What do you mean, fake mission?" Ron snapped.

"Let's just say that those Death Eaters will be running a little late. Late as never," Moody mirthlessly chuckled his answer.

Harry and Ron jumped up, going for their wands. Good thing he had taken them away from the two furious.

---

Her dark hair was sticky with sweat, dirt and blood. Her clothes were torn and bloody, as well, and her pale skin was completely covered with red cuts and scratches. She was still conscious, though, but too weak to move, too weak to protect herself.

"Not so damn righteous now, are you, Granger?" an evil voice whispered into her ear, as two hands roughly turned her round and pushed her face into dirt, tearing away the last pieces of her robes at the same time. She cried out again, but her voice was muffled and feeble.

"You disgust me, you little dirty mudblood. You're good for nothing but to be used and then killed, and that is exactly what I'm going to do with you."

The girl, barely twenty years old, whimpered with pain as he drove deeply into her, his nails biting into her flesh and drawing more blood.

"You pathetic dirty mudblood slut! You're finally getting everything you deserve, oh you so holy Hermione Granger. Down in the mud on your hands and knees – the little filthy whore you are."

He pounded deeper and harder into her, and somewhere between he had gotten himself a long sharp knife which he now used to write MUDBLOOD WHORE into her back.

He came with an angry moan whereas she, gathering her last pieces of strength, let out a long high-pitched wail which sounded inhuman even to herself.

He had pulled out of her and stood up to circle around her menacingly.

"That was the worst fuck I've ever had," he spat at her. "You're not even good enough to be a whore. Which means, you're just worthless piece of shit."

Pointing his wand at her he hissed: "Crucio!"

She let out another wail full of her misery and despair but it suddenly died in her throat as every cell in her body cried out in excruciating pain, and breathing, not to even mention speaking, was too great an effort for her. Slowly, an empty blackness crept into her mind and after all she had suffered, she welcomed it even though she knew she would never wake from it. Death was a mercy she craved for. But it didn't come as she pleaded it to, and after several painful moments she could barely make out a conversation, another voice speaking with the first, a different voice. A female voice.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" it demanded.

"What does it look like to you. I'm ridding the world of another dirty mudblood!"

"But you're killing her!"

"Well, isn't that the whole point of it?"

"You can't kill her!"

"Since when did you start to care for the mudbloods, Parkinson? Since she stole away your boyfriend?"

"Fuck you, Zabini. I'm not trying to protect her, or any other of those filthy little creatures. What I meant to say is that you shouldn't kill her off like this, in such a merciful way. I like what you've done to her back, pretty isn't it, but there's much more you could do with that knife of yours. Or if you don't want to, give it to me. I deserve to have a little fun as well, don't I?"

"Sure, Babe," he smirked at her. "Take it. She is all yours. Just let me do the final act of it, let me do the killing. Other than that, have fun, sweetie."

She took the blade from his fingers and kneeled down beside the broken girl, who was almost exactly her age.

Stretching out her hand, she gently stroked her dirty hair.

"You poor little mudblood," she cooed softly. "You poor little dirty mudblood. Perhaps I should have let him kill you, but my heart went out for you. Everybody is entitled to a second chance, even lowly animals like yourself, Granger. Oh, I see you have finally managed to tame down that bushy hair of yours, splendid, mudblood, splendid. Only it's still a bit dirty now and boys don't like girls with dirty hair. I'm sure Draco wouldn't want you this way. But don't worry, Granger, I'm here, and I'll help you out. We can solve this hair problem of yours, don't you worry."

She drew her hand through the length of her hair one more time, before taking a solid grip of it and yanking it towards herself hard enough to elicit another cry of pain from her throat as she pulled her face up from the dirt.

"Muddy hair, my, my. But we'll get through it, mudblood, don't you worry."

And with that she brought the knife against her long sweaty curls and began sawing it off. The blade was sharp enough but she took her time, careful enough to let the knife slip from time to time and cut into her neck and shoulders.

Being done with her hair, she sat back for a moment, admiring her work. Her glance moved from her head to her bare backside, looking appreciatively at the words written there.

"Tattoos!" she suddenly cried. "Boys love them. So what do you want, and where? A rose maybe, or a dolphin? No, dolphins are too girly. I know what Draco would like most, but my drawing skills are unfortunately not that good. But let's see what I can do – and if it's ugly, we can always cut it out and start again, can't we? OK, but where, now that's the question. Lets find a nice intimate place, shall we? I'd suggest your thigh, but it's already too bloody, isn't it. Well, I guess it has to be your breast then. Turn around, sweetie."

She didn't do as ordered, too weak and weary, so Pansy was required to do all the hard work by herself. And she did it, roughly, but without a comment or complain. Having her victim the right way, she bent over her and started her drawing. She was too occupied with this that at first she didn't hear what the girl was desperately trying to tell her.

"What is it, sweetie? Speak up, I can't hear you," she singsonged to her.

"M… my… nhh… nhh… name… is… nhh… not… Her… Her… Mione… Gra… Gran… ghh… ghh… ger." She managed at last.

"It's not?" Pansy asked with fake surprise. "Does it mean you're married? I didn't see a ring, but I guess I didn't look well enough."

She jabbed her hand with the knife, running it over her fingers so that it left the thinnest line of blood in its wake.

"I can't see a ring, Granger. Perhaps you wear it on your other hand."

She progressed to do the same with her other hand, as the girl kept trying to tell her more.

"Mmm… mhh… my… nhh… nhh… nhh… name… is… Lll… Lllu… Lucy… Lll… Lla… Lar… sss… son."

"Lucy Larson. Hmm… Are you sure?"

She was currently holding and examining her left hand, but now she dropped it to her side and placed the knife exactly over her fingertips.

"Did you hear her, Blaise," she turned around. "This isn't Hermione Granger at all. This is Lucy Larson."

Blaise shrugged. "That's what she says."

"And she might be right, but there's no one but us around here, sweetie, so I guess we just have to be content with what we have – you. So, nice to meet you, Lucy Larson. I'm Pansy Parkinson, and that nice gentlemen you met earlier is Blaise Zabini. So, Lucy, how are you?"

She smiled and brought down the knife, watching in delight as her fingers were cut off as easily as boiled carrots. Good blade.

The girl cried out again, but this time another cry answered, coming right behind her. Pansy threw down the knife and grabbed her wand, wheeling around at light-speed.

She couldn't believe her luck when she saw who was standing there, breathless and contorted with fury, wand pointed straight at her heart. Granger. Real Granger, not the imposter they found and played with on weekly bases. But the very real Hermione Granger, Gryffindor Golden Girl, Harry Potter's best friend, and recently also her boyfriend's personal slut.

Pansy smiled. This was going to be a great evening.

---

Something white and silvery flew through the kitchen door. Ron, who was sitting with his face towards the door, leapt to his feet, making the others jump up as well.

Lupin, who was about to start calming him down again, something he had to do every half an hour, even though Moody had left long time ago, stopped at seeing his expression and turned around quickly.

For a moment they all stared until Harry broke the silence.

"I don't know anyone whose Patronus is a dragon," he voiced suspiciously.

"Malfoy maybe?" suggested Ron.

"No, he has a hawk. What does Charlie have?"

Ron shook his head. "He has a tiger. But didn't Patronuses change sometimes?"

"They do," agreed Lupin. "Under stress or…"

"Hermione!"

"What?" asked Ron with a frown.

"This is Hermione's Patronus," Harry stated firmly.

"No, can't be, didn't she have an otter?"

"She did, but as you just said, Patronuses can change…"

"But it still could be anyone's…" he argued.

"What's the message?" Harry asked quickly.

Lupin walked up to the Patronus and touched it with his wand. It disappeared that very second, leaving nothing behind but one single word written into the air in flaming gold letters.

_Caught_.

---

"You didn't see this coming, did you, Granger?" Blaise smiled cruelly and let go of the hilt of the blade, stepping away from the surprised girl. She looked down at the knife in her stomach, eyes shocked and confused, as she couldn't believe it was really happening to her. Still clutching her wand, she fell to her knees, her breathing and eyelids becoming heavier by the moment. Her lips moved silently and a silver dragon shot out from her wandtip quickly disappearing into the blackness of the night. A heavy sigh escaped her lips as the wand tumbled from her grip, as she slowly sunk onto the ground, her eyes fluttering close.

---

And miles away a blond boy was clutching his stomach, feeling a pain that wasn't his own.


	4. Chapter 4: Do something! Anything!

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. And for the life of me I can't come up with a funny disclaimer. **  
**

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**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 4: Do something! Anything!  
**In which good guys try to cope with what they have just heard and Ron does a lot of yelling._

"We have to do something! Anything!" Ron yelled at the top of his lungs.

He was the first to react to the message they had just received, after standing in complete silence for what seemed like hours.

"I'll go tell Moody," said Remus quietly.

"NO! We don't need him! He's the one behind all this, it's all his fault!"

"He might have made a mistake, but he is still the Head of Order and needs to know about this. Besides," Lupin raised a hand authoritatively, when Ron opened his mouth to start yelling again. "He knows where she went."

"You're right!" Ron shouted, jumped into the air and dashed through the door before others realized what was happening.

Lupin sent Harry a pointed look, which probably begged him to remain reasonable, before hurrying after Ron to stop him from doing something incredibly silly and dangerous. Like attacking Moody, again.

Harry, however, took his time. He slowly walked towards the door but instead of disappearing through it, made a lazy circle round the word still hanging from the thin air, once burning and fiery, now only a wisp of diminishing smoke. With a sigh he stretched out his hand to touch it, and watched it completely vanish at the contact of his fingertips.

Then, twisting his wand calculatingly in his fingers, Harry sent out his own Patronus with his own message, and only then did he follow the others up the stairs and into Moody's room.

---

He was staring at the animal with his eyes empty. They were both silver – his eyes and the animal. A noble stag it was, standing in front of his bed, waiting for him to retrieve the message it bore. Why should he do that – he knew what the message said. He felt it. He didn't need to see it written in flaming letters as those words were already burning into every wall of his mind.

He had let her go, and now she was gone.

They had talked about it and accepted it a long time ago – this was war, and it was more than likely that one day one of them wouldn't come home anymore. That was how it was, and there was nothing they were able to do about it, nothing but accept the reality, however cruel it was.

At least, that what they said – they said they had accepted it. But how could one ever accept something like that?

Or, they could accept it and live with it, until the day finally came, until one of them didn't come home anymore, and would never come either. Then, on that day, acceptance was thrown out of the window.

And that day was today.

He pointed his wand towards the silver animal, but before he managed to speak or think the incantation, voices were heard from the living-room. Rather angry voices. And a moment later the bedroom door was blasted open to reveal a royally pissed red-hair whose face was a solid indication that from this source no valuable information would be heard, other than hundreds of thousands of curses. He turned to question Potter, but Ron was in no mood to be left out of this conversation.

"You cowardly murdering Death Eater scum!" he began with a friendly greeting. "You are just sitting here and doing nothing! NOTHING! She risked her life for you, but you, ungrateful bastard, are not willing to do anything for her! You never loved her, you never cared one bit about her, you just used her for your own pleasure! You only seduced her to get her into bed with you! You got what you wanted and now, thanks to this, you even don't have to face her to tell the truth. You're probably so happy now! You probably even planned this, you traitor! Spying on us for your precious Death Eater scum buddies!"

He took a short pause to catch his breath, but continued before Harry had the chance to interrupt.

"You never cared for her, and you never deserved her. I knew it, I knew it the moment you walked in the door – nothing good would ever come of this. Once a ferret, always a ferret. You say you're on our side, but actually you're on nobody's side but your own – the spoilt brat you really are! I told her that, I told her, don't fall for the evil tricks of that stupid bastard, he just plays with you. And that you did, but that's the last thing you ever do because I, in the name of Merlin, swear here and now that I'll make you regret every…"

Harry sighed. Ron didn't look one bit like he was going to stop any time soon, nor did he look very tolerant about being interrupted. So he droned out his friend's rather loud voice, and went through all that had happened just before. Moody was not pleased. He was not pleased with Ron accusing him for getting Hermione caught either, but he actually had been more concerned about her – whether it was her life or the information she bore. As soon as Moody had revealed them the location, which he did on Lupin's insistence, the four of them had portkeyed there immediately, only to find empty ruins grey and gloomy in the rain. There had been no trace of Death Eaters, but what could they have been expecting? Of course they had left, left and taken her with them. But where had they gone? Moody had specifically forbidden them to go back to the castle for a useless search. Harry and Ron, of course, were determined to disobey. And that's why they were here – to ask Malfoy to join them. Ron had protested when he first heard of that idea – loud and clear – but he had managed to convince him that they needed all the help they could get if they wanted to find her as soon as possible. For Hermione's sake, Ron had finally agreed. But that, apparently, didn't mean he wasn't going to yell at him first.

And he understood his reason. They needed to blame someone for it, and it was always easier to blame someone other than themselves. Harry had chosen Moody for that, but Ron found someone better for him. He had hated Malfoy for a long time, and Hermione's choice had only deepened it. He hated him for seducing Hermione since he couldn't bring himself to hating her. So he hated him. A lot.

But it wasn't his fault. At least, it wasn't his fault more than it was their fault. They had let her go, knowing very well in what condition she was, and they had let her face Moody alone. Never in a thousand years had they expected the punishment to be what it was – but that didn't mean they were innocent. The moment she needed them, they had left her alone. Of course, Moody was to be blamed as well, despite the fact the mission he sent her on was fake. But he still sent her out of the safety of the house, alone, at night, after having been tortured the same day. It would have been utterly wrong to say that Harry understood why Moody did this, but then again, neither did he understand why they had let Hermione face the music alone.

And in the end, it was him who had knocked on her door and sent her out to die.

Die.

"Is she still alive?" Harry asked suddenly.

"… stupid Death Eater bastard responsible for everything… what?"

"Is she still alive?" he repeated his question.

Ron visibly blanched at that.

"Of course she is," he said at length, his voice shaking. "She has to."

But Harry was looking past him and paying him no attention whatsoever.

"She is alive," Draco answered quietly.

"Is she all right?" Harry questioned further.

"What do you think, Potter?" came the reply, the exact words he had spoken a few hours ago when he had asked the same question. Only then she had been, despite hurt and exhausted, completely safe. Or at least as safe as anyone could be these days. She was here, at her home, with her beloved. Then, she had been safe.

"How bad is she?" he forced the words out of his mouth, afraid to hear the answer, entirely ignoring the confused glances Ron was throwing his way.

"She's at their mercy. If they want her alive, she will live. If not…"

"What are you two talking about?" Ron finally blurted out.

"Hermione," replied Harry with a broken smile.

"But you were asking Malfoy whether she is alive!"

"I was."

"But how would he know it? Unless… unless he betrayed her to the Death Eaters! That's it, is it? He's a double agent and traitor just like his great mentor Snape! He made a deal with the Death Eaters and gave them Hermione. But how would you know about this, Harry? You, of all the people, would never make a deal with Voldemort or his servants, and you would never put Hermione into danger. You wouldn't, Harry, you couldn't!"

"Of course I didn't, you git!" Harry snapped angrily upon hearing the pleading tone in his voice. "I would never. And neither did Malfoy."

"But then why… how?"

"_Exsecratio debilis_" said Malfoy calmly. "Curse of the Weak."

"Curse? What curse? You cursed Hermione? Why you…"

"It's love," said Harry, suddenly too tired to play with words. "He loves her and he feels her pain."

Whatever Ron had been expecting that wasn't it. Plus, this was something he was more than a little unwilling to hear.

"No! He doesn't love her! He doesn't even care for her! I mean, he is sitting here doing nothing when he should be out there looking for her. Just look, look at him, he just sits here and does nothing. Look how calm he is – not one bit worried, or hurt, or grieving!"

Harry looked. Yes, he was sitting there doing nothing, and yes, he was calm. But he wasn't untouched. Malfoy, cold as ice, impossible to read, showing no emotion whatsoever – that's what he had always thought. But perhaps he just hadn't looked. Because now when he did look the pain and worry were evident in his eyes and showing on his face. He was an open book, one just had to look. Perhaps it was her doing, or the bond's, but suddenly Malfoy was as easy to read as any other.

Ron, however, wasn't looking. He was yelling.

"Did you know Hermione's Patronus is a dragon?" Harry asked suddenly, looking intently at Malfoy trying to test his theory. And indeed, the flash in his eyes told Harry everything he needed to know.

"Well, it is. Now. And we better get going and see what we manage to find."

"Ron, shut up," he added in a moment. "We're going to look for Hermione."

---

**A/N:** Not as interesting as you hoped? Sorry. :( Next chapter will be about Hermione.

So, drop me a line to tell how much you enjoy reading about Ron yelling. :P


	5. Chapter 5: Fire and Ice

**Torture Alert!** _(In the story. Not that I'm going to torture you if you don't read and/or review it. Because I'm not. Really.)_

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**_Read & enjoy! _**

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**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter does not belong to me. As simple as that.

---

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 5: Fire and Ice**  
In which Hermione wakes up and Pansy gets angry, a simple choice is given and a poem gets recited._

Pain. It was dull and subdued, but it was there, present in her mind. And for a while, this was the only thing in her mind. Pain and darkness, darkness and pain. Black and red. Blood. She saw only black and red – black shadows, black woods, black figures, red blood, red knife, red cries.

Red pain.

It was better than the darkness, better than the void, better than the abyss over which she seemed to be standing on a knife's blade. Everything was better than the blackness.

Pain was good. It meant she was alive. It meant she was able to escape the darkness, the void, the abyss. Even when the reality might have been awful, nothing was as terrible as her visions of red and black.

She opened her eyes and saw white. She almost cried with joy.

…

"_Mudblood! The real Mudblood!" Pansy shrieked with delight. "I've waited so long to meet you again. Spend a little time together – talk girl stuff!"_

…

"_You didn't see this coming, did you, Granger?"_

…

_Caught._

…

Hermione let out a moan when the events of last night rushed back to her. It hadn't been a very good day for her – being caught and tortured by Death Eaters, being chased out of her home to face Moody, being thrown into cold rain to spy on Death Eaters who hadn't shown up, and being caught and tortured by Death Eaters again.

Only this time it was personal. She had glimpsed enough of the poor girl's body they had been torturing when she showed up to realize just how personal it was. Blaise Zabini and Pansy Parkinson – two people who probably hated her more than anyone else in the whole world. Save Lucius Malfoy, perhaps. But definitely more than Voldemort. Because it was personal – they didn't hate her just because she was a Mudblood or Harry Potter's friend, they hated her because she had taken something away from them. From Pansy she had stolen her boyfriend, from Blaise…

What had she taken away from Blaise?

Nothing.

So then man was just a regular sadist. Who wanted to keep Pansy happy. And keeping Pansy happy was making Hermione suffer the worst of possible.

---

"Rise and shine, Mudblood!" the blonde walked into the room. Because it was indeed a room and not a dungeon as she had suspected. Perhaps the Zabini Manor (or wherever they were) didn't have any dungeons like Malfoy's. All the better for her. Although, waking up in a rather pleasant (if the circumstances had been different) room on a soft bed was not in any way encouraging. It didn't mean that what was to come would be equally pleasant, it meant that what was to come would be most terrible and painful.

And seeing Pansy waltz happily into the room banished all the lingering doubts.

Hermione followed her each movement with her eyes, keeping her place and silence. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, one hand around the ebony bedpost, another limp in her lap. She was wearing the same clothes as the day before (at least she thought that it was yesterday), except her cloak.

It had taken her some time to remember everything that had happened after regaining consciousness, and then she had hastily looked at her stomach, which by her last memories had a knife stabbed into. Tugging up her shirt, she had found the wound closed up and no longer bleeding, but the pain was still there. She had been healed enough for not to die, but not enough to feel better. Yes, the pain was still there, with weakness and weariness, but somehow her mind was clear and sharp. The pain she could ignore, or at least bear, and with the exception of her wand, thinking was all that she needed to get out of there. That, and perhaps a bit of luck as well. Or more than a bit.

Pansy had sat herself comfortably down on a small round table by the window, and was now carefully looking at her. There was anger and hate in her eyes, as well as delight and pleasure.

Hermione did not know that one night each week Blaise and Pansy went out together to find themselves a Mudblood. Or a Muggle. She didn't know that they always picked young girls with long brown hair. She didn't know that Pansy actually dressed herself up for that special occasion to look pretty. She didn't know that Pansy always cut their hair. She didn't know that despite of all the pleasure that entertainment gave them, they were craving for the real thing more and more every day. She didn't know how happy Pansy had been last night when she had met her.

She did know that Pansy was ready and willing to kill. And she did know the she was going to kill her.

"Beautiful day, isn't it, Mudblood?" she asked merrily, offering her a big smile.

"I wouldn't know," Hermione answered, turning a pointed gaze towards the closed curtains, deep purple in colour.

She hated talking nonsense with the person who was going to kill her in the end, but this was her only chance. She had to keep talking – the longer they talk, the more time she has to think of a plan of escape.

This way, perhaps, she can somehow lull the enemy's alertness. After all, Pansy wasn't spending most of her time with someone who cried 'CONSTANT VIGILANCE' into their ears on regular bases.

With some small talk, quick reactions and cunning ideas, she will make it out of here. After all, had she not escaped worse?

Perhaps she had, perhaps she hadn't, but that was a topic for later.

First, there was Pansy.

Pansy, who had just flicked her wand so that the curtains slid away from the window, which in turn burst open.

_Well, _Hermione thought, _that decides the way I leave._

A cold wind blew into the room carrying with it a few drops of rain. Beautiful day, indeed. But the weather wasn't probably what Pansy had meant.

"Cold, Mudblood?" she asked when she noticed her shiver.

She just shook her head but the girl had already re-pointed her wand to her.

"_Flamma_," she spoke and a golden flame spurted from her wand, flying straight at Hermione and wrapping itself around her. At first, she didn't feel a thing, except for a warm tingle perhaps, but then…

It burned! It burned as real fire! Even though it left no mark on her skin, it burned! Every nerve of her body cried out in pain, although she was too shocked to let out a scream. Yet. It was everywhere around her, burning her, hurting her, causing unbearable pain, suffocating her. She couldn't breathe, and when she did, she inhaled fire. Now it was inside her, in her lungs, in her head, eating her from inside out and outside in. She couldn't think – otherwise she would have wondered why she wasn't dead yet, why hadn't she burned to ashes already and carried away on the wind. Which, by the way, didn't sound so bad right then. Flames, flames, flames of hell. Scorching, singeing, burning, hurting…

Pain is red and golden.

"Oops!" a voice sounded as from far, far way. "Wrong spell. But I suppose it did help you get warm? A bit too much perhaps? Need to cool down. How about… _Glacialis_!"

A different sensation overtook her body and mind, and for the very first moment, it felt all right even. But then…

It burned! It burned just as painfully as the fire had, but somehow it felt the opposite. And it started slowly, from the tip of her toes, moving upwards, slowly, ever so slowly. Her feet hurt and something was pressing on them too hard as if a heavy thing had fallen upon them. And at the same time, it felt… so… cold!

Still hazy and hurt from the flames, she looked down and recognized the spell. It was the same the Death Eaters had cast upon her the previous day – the one that made you feel as frozen. And indeed, a layer of ice had encased her feet and was now moving upwards, slowly, ever so slowly. Yesterday, it hadn't been so slow. Yesterday, it hadn't hurt so much. More than the Fire, perhaps even more than _Cruciatus_ for it was slow, so slow. Her knees froze, she felt as if her blood and bones had frozen as well. Freezing cold and heavy, so heavy. It hurt. It hurt as hell.

Slowly, ever so slowly, creeping up her body. Cold, but not numbing. Cold, but burning.

Pain was red and gold and transparent.

Fire and ice. Ice and Fire. Fire… and… Ice.

And she finally found her voice. Only not for screaming.

"Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favor fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice."

Pansy was so surprised at that that she ended the curse before the freezing line reached her waist. Of course, what else should one do when while being tortured, the victim decides to recite a poem instead of screaming in pain. Maybe the curse hadn't worked. But she had seen it work! Perhaps she needed more practice with it.

Realizing that she had been staring at the Mudblood with round eyes and open mouth for long moments, Pansy snapped at her in irritation.

"What the fuck was that, Granger?"

"A poem," she answered with a smirk, too hurt yet revealed to control herself.

"A Muggle poem?" she spat, still shocked as hell.

"Yes. Draco likes it by the way."

Wrong thing to say if one didn't want to anger Pansy. And an angry Pansy… was not as bad as an angry Bellatrix, as Hermione knew from her very own experience. That woman was so totally insane that the more furious she was, the better she fought. But what was an angry Pansy like?

For one thing, not very pretty, as her face twisted with rage and looked more pug-like than ever.

"My Draco does not like Muggle poems!" came the cries a second later, as she jumped off the table and advanced her, livid enough to kill her with her bare hands.

An angry Pansy was a careless one.

Hermione stood as well, ignoring the protests of her muscles and limbs, forcing herself to remain steady by sheer will. One of her hands still found support from the bedpost but the other was half-raised, ready to shot out and grab.

"Not your Draco," she said with a well-calculated smirk this time. "My Draco."

Letting out a shrill cry of war, Pansy attacked. So did Hermione.

Pushing herself off from the bed as hard as she could, she managed a rather weak half-jump which landed her beside Pansy. Her hand moved through the air as a lightning bolt, snatching the wand from the fingers of the disoriented girl. But she was not as slow as Hermione thought, or perhaps it was because she was slow herself, and didn't let go of her wand. Hermione, quickly stepping closer, twisted her arm behind her back and pushed her forward, straight against the wooden bed-frame. An exclamation of hurt and anger elicited from her lips and for a second her grip on the wand loosened. Yet even in her dazed state, Hermione managed to wrench it from her fingers and without further ado, she cast a quick _Stupefy_ at her.

That wasn't too hard.

"Beautiful, Hermione, beautiful," a deep voice sounded, accompanied by some clapping.

She wheeled around and pointed the wand at the man standing by the door. His hair was short and black, and his robes were black as well. He was leaning against the wall with such careless nonchalance which Hermione had only witnessed in Draco. But, after all, Blaise Zabini had been his best friend once upon a time.

He didn't have a wand, and hers was raised and ready to use. Yet he made no move to draw out his own, he made no move at all, other than standing by the door and looking at her. Burning into her with his gaze.

She had been burnt enough today.

She had a wand and he didn't. All she had to do was cast a spell. All that stood between her and freedom was one wandless wizard. Too easy. This was too easy.

"Where's the catch?" she heard herself speak.

"I didn't come here to fight," he answered levelly. "I came to talk."

"And why should I listen to you?"

_Curse him! Curse him! _Part of her brain was yelling. The other part said that if an evil sadistic Death Eater captures her, tortures her and then appears on her doorstep alone and unarmed, then something is very, very wrong. And not in the good way.

"Because you might want to hear about your choices before making the final decision."

Hermione slowly backed away to the open window, stealing a quick glance at a fortunately still unconscious Pansy. She felt the windowsill behind her and sat down on it, not daring to glance out and remove her eyes from Zabini.

"What choices do I have?" she asked.

"Very simple ones – live, or die."

"What's the price of living?" She was shifting her body, trying to find a position in which she would be able to peek out of the window while still looking at Zabini.

"What will you choose?"

"I think…" she stole a quick look over her shoulder - second floor, good. "I think I better be going now."

And she hurled herself out of the window.

---

Again she awoke to pain. She was hurting everywhere. And this time, the pain was everything but dull. She wanted to cry out, but couldn't, she wanted to curl up, but couldn't. And yet, the bliss of oblivion was reluctant to come.

"_Corroboro_!"

A few moments later a door banged shut.

She opened her eyes to the white ceiling again, and quickly sat up, actually feeling a bit stronger and better than before. She brought her hand to her eyes to rub them and heard an odd metallic clink which made her turn her head. A heavy iron chain was attached to both her wrists binding them to the bed, and upon further investigation she realized that the same had happened to her feet. She groaned of frustration and threw herself on her back, hands covering her face, trying to remember what had happened.

Last thing she recalled was jumping out of the window. She didn't remember hitting the ground. She didn't even remember the falling. But it was more than crystal clear to her that she hadn't managed to escape. Because she was still in the same room chained to the same bed.

Things had just taken a turn for the worse.

---

It was twilight when her 'peace' was disturbed. She knew it because the curtains had been left open this time, although the window itself was closed.

The disturbance waltzed in again, tossing blonde hair over her shoulder and trying to look superior and disdainful, but she noticed the tiniest bit of dissatisfaction in her features. There was something she hadn't found very pleasing.

"Blaise won't allow me to use his knife," she pouted, stating the reason behind her bad mood. "Says he wants you whole and untouched. And I really felt like drawing."

Hermione sat up again and glared at her. Yes, she had been displeased, but only because Zabini had forbidden her to cut her up (which, somehow, bode no good), and not because she had _Stupefied _her before - she wasn't one bit angry or scared about that. She was every bit confident.

"Oh well, I guess it's spells then. _Crucio_!"

Hermione gritted her teeth but didn't make a sound. Her memory was telling her that there were curses worse than _Cruciatus_, but her body opposed that none of those were used at her this moment. And she didn't recall the pains or burns of either Fire or Ice, she only felt the biting, stinging and stabbing pains of this curse. And those were enough.

Torture was no fun for the victim.

---

Blaise did come to see her just as he had promised, although by the time Pansy gave over his words, she was behind the point of hearing.

But come he did, this time walking up to the bed and taking a seat by her side.

"Have you considered my proposal?"

"What pp... pro.. posal?"

"Life or death, the choice is yours, sweet Mione."

"Don't call me that!" she spat.

"Still so wild and vicious after hours of torture? Perhaps Pansy is losing her touch. Perhaps I should have let her use my knife," he mused.

She would have flinched had she not been too exhausted for that.

"But no, I want you stay whole and pretty - just in case."

"Just in case what?"

"In case you choose to live."

"Listen to me, you stupid little Death Eater bastard," she raised her face by an inch to glare daggers at him. "I will tell you nothing, I will give you nothing, and I will never ever join you and your scumbag friends. Do to me what you will, but you are not going to break me. Rape and torture me all you want, I'd rather die than tell you anything. You can drag me to your scumbag Lord, but I won't tell him anything either."

He dared to laugh at that.

"You must have misunderstood me, Hermione. I don't want any information from you. We didn't took you for the Dark Lord, we took you for ourselves. This has nothing to do with the war, or the sides of it, this is a revenge – plain and simple."

"This is personal."

"Yes, baby, this is personal. Now, I better get going - Pansy tells me she is up for another go."

---

**A/N:** I know the poem bit might have been a bit weird, but I just couldn't not include it. ;)

Flamma - flame, fire (Latin)

Glacialis - icy, frozen (Latin)

Corroboro - to strengthen (Latin)

"Fire and Ice" by Robert Frost


	6. Chapter 6: High and Low

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing of PotterWorld, not even Crabbe and Goyle (what a loss, aren't they?)

---**  
**

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 6: High and Low**  
In which D-Trio gets formed, looks around, makes plans and discusses the intelligence level of Crabbe and Goyle among other things._

The heavy rain had turned into misty drizzle when the trio Apparated to the spot. Not the Golden Trio, mind you, but something which would rather be called the Desperate Trio or Bookworm Search Team or Me, Harry and a Ferret. Now, by the first morning light, the site of the castle seemed empty and desolate. The ruined walls were old and dead, and the grass was wet and muddy. It was a depressing view, and the sharp howling wind did it no good either. It was not a nice place. It was even too hollow for the Death Eaters - it had no dark aura or the feel of impending doom. This was just void with a wailing wind.

Ron looked around and his faced showed his despair.

"Which way should we go?"

Harry shrugged. They had looked around earlier with Moody and Lupin, but then it had still been dark and raining and they hadn't found a thing. Although they didn't look very far either.

"I guess we'd have to split up."

They turned to Malfoy and noticed that he was holding up a small red stone from a silver chain around his neck. Ron frowned at that and they both moved closer to see. It turned out not to be a precious stone though, as they had thought, nor a crystal - it was a very small vial with some red liquid. Placing his wand against it, Malfoy muttered something and then the wand slid through the glass, coming in touch with the liquid, and then back out, with the vial still whole and unbroken.

"What's that?" Ron asked, eyeing the now red tip of his wand suspiciously, as Malfoy hid the vial back under his robes.

"Blood," he answered simply.

"Heh? And what's that good for?"

"It's Hermione's blood. With this I should be able to locate the nearest place where she bled."

His answer was as flat and toneless as before, but Harry noticed that he had called Hermione by her first name. He never did that.

Ron however had noticed something else about what he had said.

"Hermione's blood? And you carry that around with you? You sick twisted bastard."

"You never know when you might need it. Now, stand back, Weasel, and shut up. I'll perform the spell."

He muttered a couple of words that felt rather malicious and creepy, and they felt a wave of something rush over them. Power. Dark power. Then, without a warning, white light erupted from Malfoy and shot right at them, knocking them down with its strength and speeding on towards the horizon.

Standing up and looking around, Harry noticed a thin crimson beam run over the grass towards the dark woods in the distance. Without a word, Malfoy started off that direction.

Harry stretched out his hand to help up a cursing Ron.

"... stupid git using dark spells, could have gotten both of us killed..."

"Let's go," said Harry and hurried after Malfoy.

---

The red light brought them into a clearing in the woods. It was an isolated place, surrounded by trees and bushes and thick undergrowth, rather impossible to find if one didn't know it was there, or had a shiny beam show the way.

It was dark in the glade, due to the forest around it and the fact it had not dawned yet. It felt desolate and empty, all except...

Harry's heart missed a beat.

Across the clearing from him, a lone figure was lying on the ground, naked and covered in blood. Malfoy was kneeling by its side and now gently raised its head to look at its face. He stared at it a long time, and Harry held his breath, too scared to move or make a sound. Then he placed the figure's face gently to the ground again and looked up at him.

"It's not Hermione."

"Is... she... dead?"

"She's dead."

Harry realized that he should probably feel sorry for the dead girl or horrified at her bloody mutilated body, but at that moment he could do nothing but be relieved it wasn't Hermione.

Ron had finally caught up with him and now let out an panicked shriek before rushing over to the girl. Harry could hear his sigh of relief when he had witnessed with his own eyes that it was not Hermione.

But Malfoy, standing over the body and glaring down at it, looked grimmer than Death.

Stepping nearer and sending the dead girl a hesitant glance, he gasped with terror again. The girl was lying on her stomach, her back exposed and covered by a layer of blood, under which a pattern of deep cuts was still half-visible.

But those weren't just normal cuts.

In big clear letters, two words were carved into her flesh.

MUDBLOOD WHORE

And Harry realized what Malfoy had realized a bit sooner - if the person who had done this had caught Hermione...

---

The Desperate Trio was sitting around the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place 12, with Lupin, Tonks and a couple of others. None of them were speaking and the atmosphere was funereal.

"Do you know who she was?" Harry broke the silence at last.

Tonks nodded gloomily.

"She was a Muggle. She had been taken from her home. Her family had been butchered."

No one found anything to say to that.

"But... what about Hermione?" Ron asked at last.

"There are no witnesses," Moody growled. "Nobody saw them. We don't know who they were. We don't know where they took her."

"But that doesn't mean we won't look for her! I mean, she is still alive! We have to save him!" Ron voiced the opinion of the whole D-Trio.

"We don't have time nor resources for that. And you don't know whether she is alive or not. War has its casualties. You better accept them - the Order can't afford to lose any more members."

"You can't just..." Ron started desperately, but even though no one made to stop him, he fell silent in the middle of his sentence, and slumped his head into his hands. Utter hopelessness overtook their senses and they fell into a dull stupor.

---

"So," stated Harry, once they were back in Malfoy's (and Hermione's) apartment. Even Ron had somehow realized the uselessness of fighting against Moody and his decisions, but this didn't mean they were not going to save Hermione. Because they were. The were going to search for her, high and low, and they were going to find her and rescue her.

"We need a plan," said Ron, sinking deeper into the living-room couch.

"Yeah."

"Any ideas?"

"Perhaps. We could talk to people, find out what they know, what they've heard of. We know the locations of some of their meeting places, we can go there and spy," suggested Harry.

"By people you mean Death Eaters, right?"

"Yeah."

"All right, let's go and kick some Death Eater ass!" Ron exclaimed but made no move to stand up.

"There is a stinking little place," Harry began thoughtfully, "in the Knockturn Alley, called 'The Middle Head of Kerberos'. It a perfect place for running into Death Eaters. I once saw Nott and Crabbe there."

"You have been there? Why?" Ron was half-surprised and half-suspicious. Harry hoped he wasn't still thinking that he had something to do with Hermione's kidnapping. He knew how miserable Ron was, especially since he hadn't parted from Hermione on the best terms, but the situation was difficult for all of them. And he didn't go around blaming it on Ron or Malfoy. The mere idea that Ron had actually thought he might have had something to do with it... Harry shook his head - he had already lost one of his friends (although they were going to get her back, no matter what), he didn't want to lose yet another. Ron had been angry when he had said it, he hadn't meant it. And now, his suspicion was natural, after all. The far end of Knockturn Alley wasn't the nicest place these days. It had never been one, really.

"I was meeting with an informant. In disguise. Which is how we should go there now as well - disguised."

"Do you want to be Crabbe or Goyle, Weasel? Acting as one of them wouldn't be too hard for you, bearing in mind you're on the same intelligence level as those two."

Harry groaned. He didn't know whether Malfoy did it on purpose (or he was just so accustomed to insulting them that comments like that slipped out from time to time) but that was the wrong thing to say to Ron right now. He didn't think he could bear any more arguing and yelling. Though judging by the look Ron was displaying this time it would rather be duelling.

"I am not stupid," he pressed through his clenched teeth, making one last superhuman attempt not to lose it completely.

"And neither are Crabbe and Goyle."

"Malfoy..."

Harry saw Ron's hand travelling towards his wand.

"I mean it, Weasley. Crabbe and Goyle are not stupid. They may look stupid, they may act stupid and perhaps their skills in Transfiguration aren't so great. But they shine in different fields. There are things they do well and are good at."

"Like bullying people smaller than them?"

"It's an admirable trait in the career of a Death Eater."

"And of course no one knows it as well as you do."

"That's right, Weasley," Malfoy stepped forward to loom over Ron who was still sitting on the couch. With a maniacal gleam in his eyes, he rolled over his left sleeve, revealing his pale forearm branded with the Dark Mark.

"Keep in mind who I am and what I have done, before you decide to get on my way!"

Ron didn't take threats lightly. If someone ever dared to threaten him, he would sure as hell threaten them back. Usually punch them in the face as well. And throw in a couple of lame insults.

He sprang up coming face to face with Malfoy, glaring at him full-force.

"And what a Death Eater are you who can't even kill their attended victim?"

And that was the wrong thing to say to Malfoy. Actually, that was the wrong thing to say at all. Ron clearly had stopped thinking somewhere along the way. Perhaps he had hit his head too hard when Moody had paralyzed them and they dropped to the floor.

Coming back to the scene unfolding in front of his eyes, Harry saw that both wizards had drawn their wands and trained them at each other. He had seen both Ron and Malfoy fight to know that this was his time to interrupt.

"Ron, Malfoy," he stated calmly. "If you're going to duel, please do it somewhere else. I don't think Hermione will be very pleased to find her apartment blown up when she comes back."

And that, for once, was the right thing to say.

---

"Where did you get that much Polyjuice, Malfoy?" Harry asked. "The Order is not distributing it so lightly."

"And who's making all the Potions for the Order, Potter?"

"I don't know. Never thought about it much. Except, once I did wonder where Lupin gets his monthly Wolfsbane, but..."

"Wolfsbane is a rather difficult potion to make. Polyjuice and Veritaserum are nothing compared to that. Ingredients, too, are hard to obtain, but the Order has its suppliers and I have mine as well."

"You made it? And you make Lupin's Wolfsbane as well?" Harry was clearly surprised.

"I make most of the potions for the Order. Not all, but most. Me and Hermione, that is. This batch was made by her." He gave the vials almost a nostalgic look.

"Good," snorted Ron, who was of course still angry. "Then at least I know it's done right. And remind me to never leave my room on full moon nights again."

"And who do you think made that Invisibility Potion that saved your precious life during the last mission?"

Ron realized he had no retort to that since the potion had indeed saved his life, so he contended himself with a pointed glare.

"And don't you forget it. But now, we have a Bookworm to save. Crabbe or Goyle, Weasel?"

"Goyle," muttered Ron vehemently.

"As you wish," he tossed him a small vial. "That's Crabbe for you then, Potter."

Harry caught the glass from the air and stared at it for a moment.

"It's like second year all over again," he couldn't help from commenting.

"Not quite. Then we were against Malfoy, not on the same side," Ron said with a longing that showed how much he really wished it would be the good old times in that respect again.

"Yeah," Harry agreed carefully. "And then I was Goyle."

"You can switch if you like, seeing as you have already lived into your parts once."

"And of course Crabbe and Goyle behave oh so differently!"

"Who are you going to be?" Harry asked.

"Nott."

"Not afraid of running into the real Nott?"

"Nope."

"And you're so sure about this because..."

"Nott is dead."

"You killed him?"

"Not exactly. But I saw him die."

"And of course people won't be too surprised seeing him return from grave? And you call me stupid," Ron spat.

"First, Weasel, I didn't call you stupid, even if it's true. Second, no one else knows he's dead."

"What happened?" Harry asked, even though he couldn't care any less about Nott and the way he met his end. But he needed a distraction. Otherwise, his mind would turn back to what they were doing and why they were doing it. And now was not the time to lose one's confidence and determination to wallow in grief and misery.

"He went to Russia to visit his girlfriend. I happened to be there as well. We met, we fought, he went running into the woods… those woods were not very safe. And it was a full moon night."

Ron shuddered.

"How do you know he's dead? He might be just bitten."

"Because he wasn't bitten. He was eaten."

Ron gave another shudder.

"Not a very nice way to die," Harry commented absently. "Let's just hope then we won't run into Crabbe or Goyle."

---

They got no information whatsoever. Well, they did get **some** information crucial to the Order but they heard nothing of Hermione.

Ron came up with the idea to blackmail the Order with the information they knew into searching for Hermione. This had surprised both Harry and Malfoy. Harry because he had expected Malfoy to come up with this idea, and Malfoy because he never expected Weasel getting the same idea he was having. He grunted – he did not want to agree with Weasel.

But Harry vetoed that idea before he had a chance to state his opinion. No – it was too important. The Order needed to know it, and they needed to know it now. And they were not going to blackmail their own side.

But no one they talked to, Death Eaters, drunkards or other shady figures, knew anything about Hermione, nor the attack to those Muggles and the dead girl.

Either she had disappeared from the face of earth, or someone was keeping a secret.

---

By the end of their first week as the D-Trio (or Me, Harry and a Ferret as Ron still stubbornly called it), Harry had realized three things.

First, Malfoy knew a wide variety of dark curses and was not reluctant to use them. Not all the people they interrogated were so willing to tell them what they wanted to know, at least, not without some persuasion. And Malfoy was always ready to give them just that. And he was good at it – he never gave them too much or too little and he always remembered to Obliviate them after. He was good at Obliviating people.

Second, Malfoy and Ron were driving him crazy. Honesty, even Voldemort hadn't managed to give him a headache such as these two did. Their constant yelling and bickering, throwing threats and insults at each other, sometimes drawing their wands as well so Harry had no other choice but sigh and interfere. And the funny thing was, it was Ron who started most of these fights. And he always started them with the same argument – that Malfoy was still a Death Eater scum and it had been his fault Hermione got kidnapped. And Malfoy, oddly enough, didn't try to defend himself, he just threatened to do horrible things to Ron if he didn't leave him alone. Until the one time he had finally snapped under all the terrible accusations and cried out the truth without a second thought.

"… it's your fault Hermione is gone!" Ron was shouting for the umpteenth time. "You never cared for her, you stupid Ferret. All you ever did was make her miserable. I saw it! I saw the way she was with my own eyes, the sad and tired gleam of her eyes, the last time she looked at me…" Ron's voice had died down as the implications of what he had just said hit him, but he had already pushed Malfoy over the edge.

"And do you know why she was miserable? Do you have any idea why she looked sad?" he spoke in his quiet dangerous snarl. "Let me enlighten you, Weasel. I didn't make he miserable. I made her happy. It was you who made her miserable. You who couldn't accept that she wanted to be with me instead of you. You made her life a hell, when you should have been there to support her. She needed you, and all you ever did was taunt her because she was with me. I love her. But by the way you treated her, it's you who doesn't care for her."

A few moments later Harry realized his mouth was open and closed it with a snap.

Ron simply looked miserable. Malfoy glared at him for another minute before Apparating away.

The next day, they were yelling at each other again, and Harry was having a horrible headache.

Third, he missed Hermione.

---

By the end of the first week searching for Hermione, Ron had realized three things.

First, he really hated Malfoy. Seeing that slimy git made him want to punch him in the nose and break a few of his ribs. So perhaps it wasn't **solely **his fault that Hermione had been captured. But it still was his fault. After all, had he not been involved with Hermione, she wouldn't have cared whether the Death Eaters were keeping him alive or not, thus she wouldn't have risked with the mission and gone to save him and Moody hadn't sent her out on a false mission and she wouldn't have gotten caught. So in the end, it was all Malfoy's fault.

And the git had the nerve to blame him for making Hermione miserable. He was just looking out for her. If he had managed to convince her leave Malfoy sooner, none of this would have ever happened.

So perhaps Malfoy did love her. He was still bad for her.

And, on second thought, no way in hell did he love her.

Second, Harry was acting strange. Honestly, in all the fights he kept having with Malfoy, he always broke them apart before he got the chance to hex that scumbag. And if that wasn't enough, he seemed to be on his side. Really. Not at first though, but after that fight in which he had blamed Ron for making Hermione miserable and announced his love for her. It was as if Harry had actually believed him. And now he sided with him, Malfoy, against his best friend! He defended Malfoy and reprimanded Ron. When had the world turned upside down? Oh yeah, when Hermione had moved in with Malfoy.

Third, he missed Hermione.

---

By the end of the first week of useless search and days full of her pain, Draco had realized three things.

First, this was killing him. Not the pain, per se, but the fact that she was feeling so much pain. That she was being tortured whole day every day. It was simply driving him mad. Of course, he was glad she was alive, but he couldn't stand it for far longer. It was indeed a curse – knowing that she was hurting so bad, but not being able to do anything about it. He was ready to give anything could he only take away her pain. He wanted to be there with her, hold her, protect her.

He never told anyone about the pain. When they asked whether she was alive, he nodded. Although they didn't ask it very often anymore. And the Weasel never asked, it was always Potter. And every time he asked whether she was alive, he also asked whether she was hurt badly. And every time he answered that she was alive, to both of the questions. Because she was hurt really bad.

Fortunately her pain ebbed away in the evening, although it was a small relief. But at least she had the night, at least she could rest. He couldn't. Lying alone in his cold bed, he never managed to get any rest – it was either nightmares or thoughts, and both were equally horrible. Every night he wondered whether the next day would be the one when they get tired of torturing her and kill her. And a minuscule part of him hoped it would be. Because then she wouldn't have to hurt anymore. Then she could rest in peace.

Second, Potter was acting weird. Ever since that damned day when he had finally lost his cool and blamed the Weasel for making Hermione miserable. He regretted now having done that. Not because it was a lie. Because it was the truth. But he recalled saying a few other things besides blaming the Weasel and that might have been the reason why Potter seemed to be taking his side in the following arguments he had with the Weasel. It was the fault of his own stupidity of course, but having Harry Potter, the Boy Who Is Still Alive And Annoying take the side of his one time arch enemy against his best friend was not something he could live down that easily. It was highly disturbing. He could work with Potter if necessary, he could tolerate him, act civil with him, but he would never ever bear being buddy-buddies with him. After all, he still had some amount of pride left. Although, by the end of their search, this might not be the case anymore. Damned be Potter for the millionth of time.

Plus, he was sending these really odd glances in his direction. Like he knew what he was feeling. And after all, perhaps he did. But how in Morgana's name had he found that out? It couldn't have been Hermione because Potter told it to her, not the other way around. And no one else knew anything about it. Except for Potter now. And to some extent the Weasel. Although he didn't believe it. But Potter knew… and damned be him for the millionth and one time for that.

Third, he missed Hermione. Missed her like hell.

---

By the end of the first week of torture, more torture, more extremely annoying Pansy and rather less poetry, Hermione had realized three things.

First, Pansy knew a wide variety of dark curses and was not reluctant to use them. And why would she be? But she had always thought her the dumb annoying blonde, and even though she gave the word annoying its true meaning, she wasn't as stupid as she had thought. Her spellwork was exquisite. She could cast the most difficult and complicated spells and she cast them well. She cast them well indeed.

Second, Zabini was acting weird. Really, he was one of her capturers, he was supposed to hate, taunt and torture her. He was **not **supposed to heal her every evening, give her a decent meal and unchain her from the bed to allow her take a bath. He was not supposed to talk to her in that soft caring voice, telling her it would be all right and she had to eat her food to stay strong. He was not supposed to carry her back to bed from the bathroom, push her wet tendrils away from her eyes and whisper her goodnight. He was not supposed to act nice and do all those things. Yet he did, and that was weird.

Third, she missed Draco. Missed him like hell.


	7. Chapter 7: Seven Days of Torture

**Disclaimer**: Blaa-blaa-blaah... Harry Potter is not mine... Blaa-blaa-blaah.

* * *

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 7: Seven Days of Torture**  
In which Pansy finally gets what she wants, Blaise surprises both girls, Hermione hears a couple of things about her situation, and the D-Trio meets an old friend._

One morning, Pansy didn't come. Hermione found that slightly disconcerting. Of course, as Pansy equaled torture, perhaps no Pansy would mean no torture. But those seven days of torture had felt like an eternity for her. Even one day was too long.

The first evening Blaise had brought her food, she had not been ready for it. She wanted to be bewildered and confused, but she had been too exhausted to feel anything but the aftermath of pain. Seeing that, he had strengthened her with a spell, and then given her the food. Only for a second had she eyed it carefully, considering poison, but if they wanted to kill her, nothing was there to stop them. So she had eaten, and he had sat with her and watched her do it. Later, he had vanished the chains holding her to the bed, and showed her the way to the bathroom, where a bath-tube full of warm water and bubbles, as well as some clean clothes, were waiting for her. There, he had even given her privacy, locking the door from the outside.

Later, he led her back to the bed and charmed the chains in place. Somewhere halfway through her bath, she had started to think again, mostly about her nearest future. She had had few doubts why he had done what he had done – the food and the bath, but there was nothing she could do about it. She was his prisoner, and this time he had his wand as well. And to escape she would have needed her own.

A force field much like the one keeping those not having the Dark Mark from entering the Astronomy Tower that fatal night in Hogwarts was once again erected, this time to stop her from escaping. It covered the door and the window, but instead of throwing her back from it on attempt to pass, it had been modified to cause pain and unconsciousness. And now their wands were charmed as well, so that only their truthful owners were able to use them. For Hermione they would be just a couple of useless wooden sticks.

She knew she couldn't stay in the bathroom forever as well, so she had risen, dried herself off and dressed, as slowly as possible, dreading what was to come. Another form of torture, perhaps not as painful as Pansy's Dark Curses, but in a way much worse.

Pansy had said he wanted her whole and untouched. And that could mean only one thing. But what could she do?

She could drown herself in the water, but she was not that desperate yet. The war was mostly about surviving, living one more moment until help came or a fortunate situation presented itself. She did not want to die. Not when she could live. Not when there was the possibility that one day she might see him again.

The surprise she got that night was perhaps even greater that the one she had given Pansy that same day. After having chained her back to the bed, the sadistic Death Eater gently pushed a wet curl from her face, kissed her on the forehead and wished her good night, then put out the candles and left the room.

And seven days later, she had still not come up with a plausible explanation for that.

But even though she still feared what he might do, evenings were the best time for her. She counted seconds, minutes, gritting her teeth and biting her lip in pain, determined not to scream. But this was a lost cause, and sooner or later she would have to give it up, and cry out her suffering. Pansy was always thrilled to hear her scream, so thrilled that sometimes she forgot to keep the curse strong, so that its intensity would lessen, and her pain would lessen with it. That was the easy way out – the louder she screamed the less pain she was in. And yet, despite all the torture, she was still too proud to take the easy way. During every curse, she counted how long she could keep from crying out, and she always tried to last at least a second longer than the previous time.

Her record for the _Cruciatus _was now two minutes and seventeen seconds. And she was proud of that.

Of all the Dark Curses, she hated the _Glacialis _most. Not because of its coldness or pain, but because of its slowness, graduality. Her days were just as slow as the Glacier Curse.

---

And this, Pansy-free day, was perhaps the slowest of them all. It had none of the physical pain and torture, and she could finally think in peace.

She thought of Draco. And then the peace was suddenly gone.

_He can feel your pain… He feels every bit of your pain as if it were his own._

Those had been Harry's words, and despite him not denying this, Hermione hoped against all hope that Harry had been mistaken. Because if Draco had to feel everything she had felt these past seven days… the mere thought of it broke her heart.

Why couldn't this connection work the other way around? She would have been glad to share all his pain. Wasn't her love for him strong enough? Why did he have to love her that much? If he didn't, he would have not felt what she had.

Seven days of torture for both of them.

And the water in the bath-tube suddenly didn't sound that bad anymore.

---

She had never thought of it in that respect before. She had been given so little time to think about it at all. After having Harry yell it to her, they had gone home together, to the bedroom, and held each other, sitting in silence, just like Harry had found them afterwards. In fact, they hadn't spoken a single word because at that time, no words were necessary. Of course, at that point they thought that they had at least the following night.

She recalled the castle and the rain. She had been ready to Apparate back just when she had heard the cry. If she had Apparated back a second earlier…

She didn't know whether the girl had survived – the girl they had been torturing when she had interrupted them. She had been alive then, but she highly doubted they would have spared her life.

So in the end, had she Apparated back before hearing the scream, none of this would have happened. She would be with Draco, and he wouldn't have suffered seven days of torture.

One second can make all the difference in the world.

---

Pansy didn't come until nightfall. And even then she didn't come alone but brought Blaise with her.

Hermione raised herself into a sitting position and watched them walk up to the bed and her. Suddenly, a realization hit her.

They were here to kill her.

And oddly, the comprehension didn't sound quite that horrible to her.

"Did you miss me, Mudblood?" Pansy cooed, and there was something more to her voice than the usual malicious pleasure.

"Don't worry, I'm here now, baby."

Hermione turned to look at Blaise who had settled himself by the window and was now looking at the two women in front of him, clearly with no intentions to interrupt. He was just going to observe.

She had spent about 24 hours now without torture, and suddenly she felt stubborn again. If she was going to die in a couple of moments, which she was certain of, she was not going to die without giving them a piece of her mind first. She still had her Gryffindor pride, didn't she? She would die strong and stubborn, never weak or begging for mercy.

"Hello, Parkinson," she stated coolly. "As annoying as ever I see. No, bitch, now it's my turn to talk. I had to bear your babbling for seven days, and it was almost worse than those lovely curses you gave me. Seven days ago you found me, and you were shrieking with joy then, to have the opportunity to torture me. Seven days you have done exactly that. And now, seven days later, you have already bored of it. How shallow are you to lose your interest in only one week? No wonder Draco didn't want you. And I really hope you are not stupid enough to think that once you kill me, you can still torture me whenever you feel like it."

"Kill you? Why should I kill you?" Pansy replied. "Dead Mudbloods don't scream, just like you told me. No, baby, we're here for something entirely else. You see, I finally managed to convince Blaise-darling to let me use his shiny little knife."

Hermione didn't know whether to be happy or horrified at such news. On one hand, they were not going to kill her. Yet. But on the other, this meant more torture, more pain, more suffering, for both her and Draco.

She watched as Pansy gave her a dazzling smile, she saw her step up to Blaise, saw him draw the silver blade and hand it to Pansy, saw her turn around and walk towards the bed, saw her giving her a thoughtful and appreciative look, saw her turning the knife between her fingers into a better position, saw the gleam in her eyes, saw her bending over her body, felt the cold metallic blade against her skin, heard two words being spoken, in a cold calculative tone.

"Avada Kedavra."

She saw the surprise in Pansy's unseeing eyes, felt the knife slip from her hand onto the bed, saw her follow its fall. Blonde hair, blue eyes - still wide with shock. Her tormentor, her torturer, a Death Eater, an enemy. Someone who hated her so much. Someone who tortured her for seven days, someone who was thrilled to see her suffer, see her wriggle in pain, hear her scream out in anguish.

How had a girl this young gone from boys, make-up and gossip to torture, blood and murder? But that was it - boys. One boy. One Draco Malfoy. This was her revenge, and these were the times of war. These days, no one was innocent any more.

And yet, she couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for her. She could understand the idea of revenge, she had been there herself, every time when someone she knew had lost their lives. But Pansy's revenge had got her killed. And now she was dead.

And then she suddenly realized that the murderer of Pansy Parkinson was still in the room. And then she realized that Pansy Parkinson was really dead.

Blaise was holding his place by the window, twirling his wand between his fingers.

"She was annoying, wasn't she?" he asked with a sheepish grin.

"Why?"

"Why was she annoying or why did I kill her?"

"Why did you kill her?"

Pansy Parkinson, killed by her own accomplice, her own friend, her own lover.

"She was getting on my nerves. Kept pleading me for my knife. Wanted to cut you open like a pig. I couldn't let her do that, could I now, my sweet darling Hermione?"

His soft tones were laced with danger and power.

If a man would kill his own ally, friend and lover, what would he do to his enemy?

"Why do you hate me so much?"

"Hate you, sweetie? Who said I hate you?"

"You said it was personal. On my first night here you told me that."

"I did," he agreed. "It is indeed personal, baby. Only you are not that person."

"What?"

"I detest Draco Malfoy. I hate him from the bottom of my heart, soul and mind."

"Why?"

"Because he had it all. In Hogwarts he had the respect of every Slytherin and the drool of every girl, Slytherin or otherwise. He had his money and his name. Later he had the choice between Death Eaters and the Order. And now, finally, he got you as well - the smartest and prettiest witch in the whole England, probably."

Hermione was beyond shocked. _The smartest and prettiest witch in the whole England, probably._ He was lying, wasn't he?

"Jealousy? You're doing this because you're jealous of him?"

"You may call it that. But to me, it's simply a form of injustice. So perhaps now he doesn't have the respect of Slytherins any more, or his money, and I know his name is hated by both sides, and all the girls have probably better things to do as well. But he still has his place at the side of light, and he still has you. I just wanted to balance things a little."

"You envy him because he fights on our side?" she could not believe what she was hearing. "But so can you, Blaise, so can you. You saved me from Parkinson tonight, and if you take me back to the Order, I'm sure they'll accept you."

Hermione tried to quench the flame of hope in her heart and silence the voice in the back of her mind, which was singing _One more for the Order, one more for the Light _in whispering tones.

"Can I, Hermione?" he turned his gaze to look out of the window into the darkness, his fingers still playing with his wand. "Can I? I have murdered, killed, tortured and raped hundreds. I've done it on orders and I've done it by my own free will. I have loved doing it - hurting people, making them scream in pain, wielding the power to kill them. I never had any choice, nor do I have it now. I would never be accepted by your side."

"But if you regret your deeds..."

"But I don't. I don't regret killing all those Muggles and Mudbloods. I liked it, and I want to do it again. I will do it again."

She felt a shiver run down her spine and goosebumps erect on the back of her neck.

"Will you kill me now?" she asked.

"That's your choice, Mione." He now turned his glance to her and placed the wand on the windowsill. "It's a simple choice - live or die."

"And now you came for my answer?"

"Not yet. I'll give you one more night. Tomorrow, I want your answer. Today, you can ask me whatever you wish to know."

One more night. A couple of more hours to live.

"And if I choose life?"

"Then you live."

"What life would I live?"

Something flashed in his eyes.

"You live here, with me."

"As your prisoner?"

"As my girlfriend."

---

Upon entering the room, Ron threw his bag to the floor as if it was all its fault, glared at it for a moment and then stumped his way to the couch and fell upon it.

"Bad day?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Moody seems to be sending everyone to fake missions these days."

"You too, eh? Do you think he has found out we're looking for Hermione on our own and now tries to stop us?"

Ron opened his mouth to answer but was halted by green flames springing to life followed by a heavy thud. They watched in awe as a figure covered in dirt and blood stumbled out of the fireplace, straightened itself with the support of the mantelpiece, and surveyed the room in front of it.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" it demanded at last.

"What the fuck happened to you?" Ron countered.

Malfoy glared at him for a moment, then looked down at himself as if he had not noticed before the condition he was in.

"I had a mission," he answered simply, limped over to the couch and sat down heavily, throwing back his head and covering his face with hands. He stayed that way so long, motionless, that even Ron was starting to feel a little concerned which he showed by elbowing Harry in the ribs and motioning towards Malfoy with his eyes.

Harry just shrugged, first. But when the clock on the wall had already moved ahead some good ten minutes, he decided it was time to stop the uncomfortable silence.

"Umm... Malfoy?"

"Why are you still here, Potter?" came the quiet irritated answer, although he still didn't make a move.

"Because we agreed to go looking for Hermione again today."

At that Malfoy dropped his hands from his face and stared at the opposite wall for a minute.

"I'll be back in a moment," he informed them before standing up and limping to the bedroom.

A quarter of hour later he was back, all the blood and dirt washed off to reveal several large bruises and cuts on his face and forearms.

"What the bloody hell happened to you?" Ron asked again, but only got a grunt for an answer. Harry however suddenly realized that there was a better solution to things. Before anyone could react, simply because they never saw it coming from him, he had drawn his wand, pointed it and said a spell. For a moment, a purple circle hovered round his target's leg, then it was gone taking the pain with it.

Harry Potter had just used a healing spell on Draco Malfoy.

"That's it, Potter!" the latter whirled around, clearly aware of the absence of the pain. "Stop being nice to me!"

Harry only shrugged again and ignored Ron's open jaw.

---

"Nott!" the girl called out in surprise. "I thought you were in Murmansk."

"Natasha sends her regards," the boy answered. "What's up, Milla?"

Millicent seated herself next to Nott, and across from Crabbe and Goyle.

"Oh, you two here as well?" she asked merrily. "I heard you had quite a day."

"What do you mean?" asked Goyle, looking just as stupid as he always had.

"Well, you're quite the heroes of the day, with your beating up Draco. I heard he looked like a bloody plump afterwards."

Nott smirked, but Goyle couldn't hold back a snigger.

"Yeah, that was good. I really enjoyed punching the crap out of him."

Crabbe sent his counterpart a quizzical look, but didn't say a word.

"Yes, well," commented Millicent. "It wasn't that long ago when we were all sitting around the same table and laughing over the same jokes. He was a great guy with the best sense of humour. I rather miss his sarcasm."

"A dangerous thing to say about one's enemy," Nott warned.

"Enemy. Just a little ago he was my friend. I seem to be losing too many of them with this war. Draco's gone, I haven't heard from Blaise I don't know how long, and recently Pansy has disappeared as well. Daphne was rather worried about her, she said they were going to meet but she never did show up. I'm hoping for the best of course, but I can't stop thinking that she's lying in some lone cold ditch somewhere."

Nott remained aloof. Crabbe and Goyle exchanged one too meaningful glance.

"Once we win this war, Milla, every loss we have bore will be repaid."

"How can you say that, Theo? They were our friends. We can't bring them back from death once the war is over."

Suddenly Millicent burst into laughing - it was a bitter mirthless sound which somehow resembled more to sobbing.

"Wonder what a Gryffindor would say, if they heard us speak these words. They have always thought us, Slytherins, cold heartless bastards who hate and despise everyone, even the people of our own house. They think we have no friends, at least not the way they do, and that we care for none except ourselves. And then they have the nerve to call **us** prejudiced."

"It's just a survival technique, Milla. Care for nobody beside yourself, this way you'll never get hurt."

"Don't tell that to Natasha, Theo."

"Natasha is not here, in the middle of the hearth of war. She lives as a Snow Queen in the castle of ice, and she is safe there."

Millicent looked a bit suspicious.

"Never heard you speak that poetically, Theo. Are you all right?"

"Just had a long day. What news have you got, Milla?"

"You will never guess who I ran into yesterday," Millicent grinned gleefully.

"Who?" Nott raised a brow.

"Neville Longbottom."

"That cowardly pansy? Still alive? I thought he would manage to blow himself up the minute he stepped into the real world. And I'm sure it was him who ran into you, that clumsy git. Where did you meet him anyway?"

Millicent was suddenly frowning and even looked a bit angry, although the reason behind it was unclear.

"In St. Mungo. He was visiting his parents, I gather."

"Oh, those two loonies. I can't see why they still keep them, I would have put them to sleep a long time ago. It's not like they have any hope," Nott sneered.

By now, Millicent was looking positively livid.

"You wouldn't say those words if it were your parents there!" she hissed at him.

Nott looked at her calculatingly.

"You feel sorry for Longbottom?" he asked, his tone indicating that he could not think of anything more disgusting.

"No!" Millicent said a little too fast. "No, it's just that... Do you remember the thing we discussed before you went to Russia, Theo?"

She was eyeing him carefully, hoping to see his reaction, but none came.

"Which thing?" Nott only asked.

"**The** Thing," Millicent whispered urgently.

Goyle snickered, but fell silent at Crabbe elbowing him.

"Milla..." Nott began darkly.

"I know," the girl sighed. "It's not safe here. It's not safe anywhere. If it got out, we would be dead before we had any time to even deny the accusations."

She looked around warily, too see if anyone was paying them a little too much attention.

"But did you think about it, Theo?" she turned back to him. "You said you would. Did you?"

He nodded. "I did, Milla."

"Well then, I suppose I'll talk to you later," the girl smiled and after saying goodbyes to Crabbe and Goyle as well, stood from the table and left the inn.

"What was that all about?" Goyle asked a moment later.

Nott smirked.

"Never thought it would be Longbottom," was all he said.

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**Author's Notes:**

Hope you liked it! Please review. :)


	8. Chapter 8: Life Is Precious

**_Hugs and cookies and pink dancing elephants to all my readers and reviewers!_**

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****Disclaimer: **As surprising as it might sound, Harry Potter is not mine. Really.

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**Everything To Lose**

**_Chapter 8: Life Is Precious_**  
_In which Hermione chooses between life and death, and remembers._

Blaise's plan was so simple yet so devious that she had to admit he was something more than a regular sadist. He was a sadist with a brain, a mind with arctic sharpness and exquisite cunningness.

He wanted her to stay with him, and stay out of her own will, not as a prisoner. He wanted her to come to him and do everything he wanted her to do without actually forcing her. He didn't want to conquer her body, he wanted to conquer her mind, her will, her spirit. He wanted her to give up everything she had ever believed in, everything she had ever fought for.

And Hermione was not ready to give him that. Some things were worth dying for, and this happened to be one of those. She was going to die proud and stubborn and true to her cause.

She would choose death.

---

They say the moment before one dies, their entire life will flash before their eyes. Hermione knew she was going to die, but instead of one short moment she had at least ten hours. To remember.

Hermione had been always proud of her systematized approach to eveything. Just like she had always ordered her books so meticulously, the way she liked to categorize almost everything, her plans always laid out in her mind and paper in detail before she took the action. Now, she was going to watch her life like a movie, starting from the very beginning, her years as a weird Muggle kid doing supernatural things from time to time, the day she got her Hogwarts letter, meeting Harry and Ron on the train for the first time, being sorted into Gryffindor... her encounter with that troll first year, helping Harry solve the riddle when they had gone after Quirell to protect the Philosopher's stone, unveiling the mystery of the Chamber of Secrets in their second year, travelling back in time and freeing Sirius in the third, the Yule Ball and Victor in her fourth year, fighting Death Eaters in the Ministry the next, the death of Dumbledore at the end of their sixth year... the hunt for Horcruxes during their seventh... and the open war against Voldemort ever since.

She mentally sat down on the couch, helped herself with a bowl of popcorn and flicked on the TV.

"The Life of Hermione Granger".

And here her ever systematized nature failed her.

Instead of seeing herself as a five year old girl, playing happily with her nieces at the backyard of her parents' house, a very different memory assaulted her.

---

"_Harry, Ron, I have come to a conclusion," Hermione told her friends at the kitchen table at Grimmauld Place 12. _

"_Yes, Hermione?" Harry prompted and even Ron averted his gaze from the sandwich he was currently having. _

_Their alertness to her news was sligthly disturbing, it almost felt as if they knew and now wanted herself to confirm it. But she shrugged that feeling off and lauched into her fully prepared speech._

"_This is something I have always wanted to do, and I realized there isn't a better time to do it than now. I know things are dangerous, with the war going on and Voldemort and his Death Eaters active and fighting, but believe me when I say that I have taken every security measure I could think of to make things as safe as they can be. I also want to reassure you that this had nothing to do with the two of you – you are my best friends and you will always remain that, and remember that I am not doing this because of any of you, or for anyone else but myself. We don't know what will happen tomorrow and that's why it's time to seize the day and do something I have always wanted to do."_

_She paused to breathe and saw the looks of concern at her friends' faces. They seemed like they were not going to like what she was about to say, and she agreed that they indeed might not like it. But she had made her decision and was not going to change it. _

"_What is it, Hermione?" Harry asked half-heartedly as if not sure that he really wanted to hear this. _

"_I," she started and took another deep breath. "I am moving out into my own apartment."_

_She looked at their shocked faces and silently counted the seconds before one of them would burst. On 24, Ron couldn't take it anymore._

"_You're moving out!" he exclaimed, but that seemed to be everything he was capable of saying._

"_Hermione," Harry began in a quiet urgent tone. "I don't think it's a good idea. It's not safe for us to live apart from the others, to be away from the Order when we might be needed."_

_She knew what he was thinking – he needed to be here among the first to learn about Voldemort, his plans and whereabouts._

"_I know that, Harry. But when I said that I'm moving out, I meant that **I** am moving out."_

"_You can't stay on your own!" Ron cried out. _

"_He is right," Harry concurred. "It's not safe. It's better if you have someone to guard your back and look out for you."_

_Hermione lowered her head and squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. The problem wasn't that she was moving out on her own, the problem was that she was **not **moving out to live on her own._

_Also, she realized that perhaps she should have told them about her secret relationship with their one time enemy **before **telling them moving in together with that said person, but now it was too late to change that._

"_I won't be alone," she muttered under her breath, too low for anyone else to hear._

"_What?" asked Harry, frowning._

"_I said I won't be alone," she repeated a bit louder._

_It took a while for them to let it sink in and realize the meaning behind her words, but when it had finally happened..._

"_You want to live with me?" Ron asked unbelievingly, at the same time grinning like a maniac._

"_No, Weasley, I'm pretty sure she didn't mean you," said a voice from the doorway and Malfoy walked into the kitchen, smirking. _

"_And how would you know?" snapped Ron, oblivious to the flush on Hermione's cheeks and the tinkle of understanding in Harry's eyes._

"_That's a good question, Weasley," Malfoy made a thoughtful face. "Let's think how by Circe could I possibly know it."_

_He paused for a moment, looking like he was actually pondering about that question._

"_No, can't think of any possible way," he gave up at last. "Maybe you can, Granger?"_

_She would have shot him a glare had she not been sitting with her back towards the door and reluctant to turn around and see him smirk. Stupid bastard!_

"_Well?" demanded Ron now from Hermione. "How does the ferret know this?"_

"_I... I might... I might have told him," she muttered, averting her eyes from Ron and turning to Harry instead who was watching her intently, his expression grave but... understanding? _

_But she was not given any time to ponder about Harry because Ron then suddenly made an exclamation._

"_No, Hermione!" he cried. "No! Please tell me you are not thinking what I fear you might be thinking."_

_Hermione had no response to that, and seeing her silent, Ron continued._

"_Please tell me you are not moving in together with that... that... that bastardly Death Eater scum!"_

_To tell that Hermione was shocked would be the understatement of the century. Never in a thousand years had she expected him to say that... and the curious look on Harry's face... it could mean only one thing._

"_You knew!" she spoke, the look of utter surprise upon her features._

_Harry only gave a nod, but Ron now turned on him instead._

"_You told me this was only a passing stage," he hissed at Harry. "You told me they are going to break up sooner or later. You told it was only a matter of time before the bastard dumps her and she cames back to us crying!"_

"_WHAT!" she yelled and shot up from the table, knocking her chair over in the process._

_Ron looked at her as if he had forgotten she was still in the room. Perhaps he had. But in a second, he was on his feet as well, and glaring at her from across the table._

"_No," he snarled at her. "You are not going to live with Malfoy. This has to stop here and now!"_

_Still shocked to the core, Hermione felt some of her astonishment turning into anger._

"_You are not going to tell me what I can do and what not!" she replied hotly._

"_You are not going to live with that bastard. He will murder you in your sleep!"_

"_If he wanted to kill me in my sleep, he could have already done it here!"_

"_Here at least someone will see him if he tries to sneak into your room!" Ron countered._

"_Like the way someone has seen him sneak into my room all those times last week?" After saying it, Hermione realized her mistake and gasped, but now it was already too late to take it back._

_Ron seemed as if he was going to explode any second now, but when he spoke again his voice was level._

"_You're shagging him?"_

_Hermione felt her mouth fall open and for a while she was unable to form any coherent word, not to mention a sentence._

"_That is none of your business, Ronald Weasley!" she shouted at length._

"_I'll make it my business. You're my friend and I won't let you go around and act like a sl--"_

_He was stopped midword by a wand pressed into his throat._

"_You finish that word, and I **will** curse you, Weasel."_

_None of them had noticed when Malfoy had moved to the table, but now he was unarguably there._

_Harry had sprung to his feet as well, but he had not drawn his own wand as she had expected him to._

"_But your wand down, Malfoy," he announced in a low dangerous voice._

_Draco held his position and kept glaring daggers at Ron who looked as menacing as he could with a wand poking at him._

_Hermione sighed. Why had she expected it to be easier than this?_

"_That's it," she said at last, brandishing her wand as she spoke. "Draco, put down you wand. Ron, sit down and calm down. Harry, the same goes for you."_

_After half a minute of more glaring and some threatening from Hermione, her orders were finally followed, and the four of them had sat down, Draco taking the seat beside her._

"_Now that we are all calm and reasonable," she pressed through her teeth. "We can discuss this matter like normal people. Harry, would you like to begin?"_

"_I don't like it," he said at once, but continued before she had the chance to protest. "Are you sure this is what you want?"_

"_Yes," said Hermione firmly and nodded as well, just in case, to show that this was indeed what she wanted._

_Harry looked deep into her eyes one more moment, a look that somehow seemed to pierce right through her, before freeing her of his gaze._

"_If this is what you want, then I will support your decision. But don't expect me to be happy about it."_

"_Oh, Harry!" she exclaimed happily and incapable of controlling herself, she rushed around the table to throw her arms around his shoulders. He returned her hug with a smile. _

_In the middle of their embrace, however, Ron leapt from his chair and rushed out of the door._

---

Ron had never really accepted that decision of hers. Harry had, and he had supported her like a true friend with helping her move her stuff into the new apartment and visiting her there regularly. Ron only came when he knew Malfoy was not there or when Harry had made him come.

And now she was going to die with Ron still being mad at her. Tears fell from her eyes as she suddenly realized she was never going to see Ron again, nor Harry, nor Draco. She was never going to mend her relationship with Ron, she was never going to hug him or tell him what a great friend he had been to her. She was never going to see him laugh, or hear him yell at her, or witness his ears going the shade of crimson. She was never going to see Ron again. Nor Harry. Nor Draco. Nor anyone else she cared about.

She was never going to see the wedding of Harry and Ginny, given that they both survived the war, and she was never going to marry and start a family herself.

The tears were still flowing down her face when another memory attacked her.

---

"_I was thinking," Hermione said, not looking up to meet his silver eyes._

"_Really?" he feigned surprise. "The bookworm and know-it-all was actually thinking? This can't be happening! The end of the world must be coming!"_

"_Stop it," she scolded him, altough she was suppressing a smile of her own. "I'm being serious."_

_He chuckled and kissed the top of her head, continuing his previous activite of gently sliding his fingers through her brown curls._

"_What were you thinking about?" he asked in a while._

"_Everything," she said with a small sigh. "The war."_

_She thought she heard him sigh as well, but dismissed the thought. Malfoys do not sigh._

"_Don't," he almost commanded. "Don't think."_

_Like a bookworm and know-it-all could stop thinking?_

"_We might not survive it," she went on. _

"_We will."_

"_You can't be sure of it, Draco. Death and destruction is everywhere around us. We can't escape it. It might happen to one of us any day now. Perhaps even tomorrow one of us won't be coming back."_

_He was silent for a long time, and she spoke no more as well._

"_I know," he said at last._

"_So when that time comes..." Hermione pressed on, even though she wasn't sure of what she was going to say._

"_For Merlin's sake, Granger," he sounded annoyed now and heaving himself to a sitting position on the bed, lifted her chin up with his finger, so that their eyes met._

"_We are here and alive now, Granger, and we are not going to waste the time talking about what might happen someday in the future. When that day comes, it comes, and we will deal with it then, but now there is no reason to depress yourself with such morbid thoughts. We are safe here and now, relax and don't worry."_

"_Nowhere is safe these days," she murmured, although now in his arms she felt more safe than anywhere else in the world._

"_You're safe here. I won't let anything happen to you."_

_She smiled._

"_I love you, Draco."_

"_And I love you, bookworm."_

_When he kissed her, she felt her troubles wane away. For one more night she was safe, alive and happy._

---

And now that day had come. She had thought the very same thing already eight days ago when she got caught, but today it would be official. Today she would die, and never again return home.

With more tears spilling from her eyes, Hermione recalled the day of their last mission, using Draco as a bait to reveal the secret location of Death Eater village. She remembered her dread and pain when they took him, the long wait which felt like being eaten alive, to know that they might be killing him the exact moment.

She remembered everything she had gone through that day and hoped that Draco wouldn't need to experience the same with her death. Only not the same because she still had hope and a chance to save him, but when she is dead...

_He is strong, _she tried to convince herself. _He will get through it. At least he is alive, and he will be happy again one day._

---

Blaise had freed her from the chains last night, saying that her prisoner days were now over, so Hermione was able to walk around in the room freely.

Moving to the window, she gazed into the darkness, noting the thin light blue streak at the horizon.

"After the darkest hour there will be dawn," she whispered into the night. "Survive the darkness, Draco, and live. Live for me. Live the life I will be never able to live. Be happy. For me. I love you."

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**A/N:** If you don't cry or feel like crying right now you are heartless, I tell you, heartless. 

And you know what else makes you heartless? Not leaving a review. So please do it. For the sake of pink dancing elephants and rope jumping sheep. (Yes, I'm weird.)


	9. Chapter 9: Days of Future Passed

**A/N:** The title comes from an album of Moody Blues. Listen to it, if you can, it's really good. :) (At least I love it)

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**Disclaimer: **Writing fanfiction is fascinating. Writing disclaimers is boring. And Harry Potter is not mine.**

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**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 9: Days of Future Passed**_  
_In which Hermione realizes something she doesn't want to know and watches something she doesn't want to see._

People around her were crying. Her vision was nothing more than a great blur of shadows and colours, twirling and twitching before her eyes. But the screams and shouts she heard so clearly. The shouts were panicked and hopeless and urgent, those of dying and fighting. Those she had heard when missions went wrong. Those that were a bad, bad omen. She tried to raise her hands to rub her eyes in order to sharpen her vision, but she could not move. She tried to open her mouth and yell but even that she couldn't do. Before losing herself to panic, Hermione took a deep breath, only to realize that she couldn't breathe either. That she didn't breathe. That she didn't need to breathe.

And then the recognition came to here, in the form of a heavy breeze of storm that threatened to blow her away into the void.

_I am dead._

The voices around her had died... died. Voices of the dying people, or perhaps an echo from those already dead. Like her. She was dead. It was a difficult concept to accept. She was dead. She... was... dead.

She couldn't recall dying, though. She remembered being caught, remembered Pansy torturing her and Blaise killing Pansy, she remembered the choice he had given her and remembered what she had chosen. She remembered looking out of the window at the thin line of silvery white at the horizon. She remembered everything before it, but nothing after. Had Blaise entered the room then and taken her life? But she hadn't even had the opportunity to speak her answer in that case. So he would have killed her anyway, whichever option she had picked. This way at least she died proud, stubborn and true to her cause, her fight, the side of the light. Loyal to Harry, to the memory of Dumbledore, to the Order of the Phoenix. Some things were worth fighting for and some things were worth dying for.

_So this is what being dead feels like, _Hermione thought. Rather... boring. Not what she had expected. What had she expected? Some kind of heaven, perhaps, or some kind of hell, or just a place to meet with other dead people. Like Dumbledore. Like Sirius. Like her grand-aunt Sophia. Or perhaps some kind of reincarnation. Not... not this.

The swirl of colours and shadows she had first seen had now morphed into something different. It was dark, yet not the kind one sees outside at night, nor the kind of oblivion when one is unconscious. It was like a substance, liquid darkness, strangely alive and moving. It was like a cloth of velvet, so dark it looked black, but when light shone from the right angle, its true colour revealed – forest green, navy blue or burgundy red. Only this material here was neither of those three, it was rather all of them and none. She felt as if it changed between all the colours of the rainbow, but so quickly that she couldn't see it, that she could only feel it in the form of an odd tickle she couldn't really describe.

And then, suddenly, the velvety curtain was drawn away from her vision and audition, and Hermione saw and hear more she could receive or comprehend at the moment.

She didn't know whether it took a second or an eternity, although she doubted time mattered much in this place, before she was able to process what she was looking at.

It was night and the field in front of her was embraced with shadows yet it was anything but dark. Radiant beams of green, red, blue, yellow and purple were flying through the air, so often that the ground seemed to be covered with a colourful net. She examined the beams in awe for a while, admiring their brilliance and the patterns they wove together. They were so pretty that she saw nothing but those threads of colour, running over the field, creating a light show more beautiful than any fireworks she had witnessed before.

Only when she became aware of the noises, only when she started to depict the cries, did she realize what she was seeing.

Death was beautiful.

She was looking at a battlefield. And not just any battlefield. In the distance, a magnificent shadow of a building cut out a piece of the starry skies, and she didn't need to look twice nor notice the nearby lake to realize what it was. For six years it had been her home, her sanctuary, her haven, here she had been happy and safe and carefree. The Castle of Hogwarts.

Here the Last Battle would take place, here in front of Hogwarts, not far from the White Tomb of Dumbledore. Here Harry and Voldemort would duel and the outcome of that would define everything. Darkness versus light, evil versus goodness, which one will triumph?

Forgetting her present state of death, Hermione looked around, trying to notice familiar faces. She saw Neville on her right, battling alone with three Death Eaters, his face wild and fierce. She noticed a girl with dark curly hair lying on the ground behind him, her face covered with blood and her eyes empty and unseeing. For a moment, the limp body of Pansy flashed in her mind, the shock and surprise on her features, but then it was gone, and she once again saw the dead brunette girl. She couldn't recognize her, but she realized she was the reason their normally kind and goodhearted friend was showing off an expression of such fire, such anger and hate.

So Neville finally got himself a girlfriend, she smiled, happy for him, to remember only a moment later that the girl was now dead. Her smile disappeared and she turned away.

A sharp cry cut through the air like a razor and in the light of a yellow curse, she got a glimpse of red hair before darkness claimed its owner. Red hair. Was it Ron? Ginny? Fred or George? Charlie? Bill? Or perhaps it had been Molly or Arthur Weasley? Were they hurt? Were they alive?

She turned away again, not knowing why, but unable to concentrate on one thing, one place for too long.

She saw many of them, many of her friends, many people she knew, many of the Order. She saw them fighting, shouting, falling and dying, or on the ground hurt, unconscious or already dead. She saw curses flying and people dying but somehow none of this seemed to really reach her. She didn't wail in grief when she saw Tonks receiving an _Avada Kedavra_ and tumbling into the dirt, she didn't rush for help when she saw Seamus struggle alone against five, she didn't feel a thing when she saw her friends die or cry for help.

And yet, at the same time she knew they were dying, she knew she should feel something, whether pain or grief or anger or fear or hate. But she simply couldn't. Wasn't it because she was dead, because the mortal sufferings affected her no more? Was that the reason she was so cold and emotionless? Perhaps.

Or perhaps not.

"_Impedimenta!_" cried a voice too familiar, and she was suddenly mesmerized by pale skin and silver eyes. And then a stream of ice shot through her being, and she was paralyzed by a fear she had never experienced before.

"Why such an angry face, Draco?" a taunting voice sounded from her right, and after a second, a figure cloaked in black entered her line of vision. It stayed there for a moment, hooded and masked, before revealing its face and throwing the outer robe away. Still donned in only black, there stood Blaise Zabini. The man who had killed her. And now Hermione felt anger as well as fear.

"You're dead, Zabini," Draco hissed, low and dangerous, indicating that he was angry beyond belief.

"Really? Well, that's funny, Draco, since I still seem to be standing and breathing."

"Not for long, Zabini. You will die, and you will die slow."

Both of the men had their wands raised and pointed at each other, but neither wished to make the first move. At least, not yet.

"You want me to beg for mercy?" Blaise asked, his voice dripping with venom. "Beg for mercy like she did?"

Hermione noticed Draco's grip on his wand tighten and saw his knuckles turn even paler, and for a moment she wondered who they were talking about.

Then she remembered. They were talking about her.

"Oh, she was pretty, the little Mudblood whore of yours. Such dazzling brown eyes, and oh! what curls. I've always liked her hair, already back in school when you used to make fun of it. So silky, so delicate."

Now Draco was clutching his wand even harder, and she was afraid he might break it like that. But Blaise was not finished yet.

"And she is hot, too. Incredibly hot. I never dreamed she would be so good, that she would feel and taste so good, her small sweet body wriggling under mine. And her screams... the way she struggled... the way she trashed and wailed and begged for me to stop. I have never been so turned on my entire life."

"_Crucio!_"

Blaise dodged the curse easily.

"Reverting back to your old ways, _friend_?" he taunted. "What would sweet Mione say when she found out you are using the Unforgivables? I never used any of those on her myself. I had no wish to _Imperio_ her, as she tasted much better a little reluctant, and I found better ways to torture her than _Crucio_. Much more **pleasant** ways. And I never _Avada Kedavra_'d her either – it was so much more fascinating to see her bleed to death, slowly, ever so slowly, see her blood flow freely from her body, her eyes turning from fire to glass. You know, I realized that they are wrong about the Mudbloods – her blood was such a brilliant shade of red, not one bit muddy. It was such a beautiful sight seeing it against sheets of white silk."

"_Avada Kedavra!_"

Blaise merely stepped aside and let the emerald beam fly past him.

"Now, I told you, Hermione won't be happy hearing about you using such Dark Curses. Besides, I thought you wanted to kill me slow."

With a flick of his wand, he deflected two more _Crucio'_s.

"Oh!" exclaimed Blaise all of a sudden, as if he had remembered something crucial. "I forgot. She is dead, isn't she, your dear sweet Hermione. I killed her, didn't I? Let her bleed to death. Too bad, she really was a little hot vixen in bed."

"_Sectumsempra_!"

This time Blaise had been too busy laughing at his own joke and managed to jump away only partially, letting the curse draw a deep wound into his cheek. Sourly he raised his left hand to touch it and his face formed an expression of pure malice and hatred.

"Enough of small talk!" he bellowed. "You're going to die just like your little whore!"

Watching the exchange of curses in front of her, Hermione quickly went over everything she had heard.

_...her small sweet body wriggling under mine..._

_...she really was a little hot vixen in bed..._

_...she tasted much better a little reluctant..._

But none of this had really happened. Blaise was lying. He was just provoking him. And by the look of things, he had managed that quite well.

While Draco had now lost the last of his self-control and was throwing curses at him like a madman, Blaise only used defensive techniques, blocking the curses but not shooting his own. And that he did with cold blood and sharp mind, barely moving at all, save stepping to either side when an _Avada Kedavra _was cast his way. He was waiting for Draco to exhaust himself or least lose his guard so that he could attack and hit with one well-aimed curse.

And if things were to continue the way they did, he would succeed in this sooner or later.

"Calm down, Draco," she wanted to yell, "He's just taunting you, playing with you! You're going to get yourself killed this way!"

But she was dead, unable to say a thing, and Draco did not hear her.

A burst of fear and panic strong enough to kill her for a second time filled her being, and suddenly, against her own will, she turned away. Those emotions died in a moment, now that she was not seeing Draco anymore, and she calmed enough to be able to think, and once that happened she prepared to turn back, only now something else caught her attention.

Two persons duelling. Nothing extraordinary about that. A young man with black hair, emerald eyes and glasses against a figure with abnormally white skin, long bony fingers and blood red eyes. And now it was nothing but ordinary.

Harry and Voldemort, facing each others, fighting the battle of all battles, the one that will decide the fate of this world.

Right now they were staring at each other, a struggle of mind rather than curses, the darkness in the crimson against the light in the green. Both wands were raised, but none of them said a word, Harry's face taught with decision and determination, Voldemort's expression... afraid? No, not afraid, but a bit surprised, as if he hadn't expected Harry last this long. But Harry stood there tall and unwavering, complete resolution radiating from his form with no sight of weakness. He was not going to give up, he was not going to lose. And now Voldemort was beginning to look a little afraid...

Harry was winning.

Another cry shot through the night, short and cut off. Without thinking she turned towards the noise and again fear coursed through her as she saw Draco on the ground, his face and arms covered with blood, his hands empty, and Blaise, standing above him with a wicked smile, his wand pointed and lips parted for speaking the curse.

Hermione felt her glance shifting again, so now she was looking back to Harry. Harry, who had broken his gaze with Voldemort and was now crying something, pointing his wand and uttering a curse. His opponent, freed from the battle of wills, the one he had been so close to losing, now reverted to other kind of offence, directing his wand at Harry, whose awareness was momentarily averted and casting a curse of his own.

She didn't stay to watch Voldemort's curse hitting or missing his victim, her eyes were now trailing the golden beam Harry had let loose, watching it travel through the air, fly past her and straight into Blaise who was in the middle of the Killing Curse, his eyes cast down at his victim, not noticing the spell rushing at him and hitting him.

As Blaise fell to the ground and Draco _Accio_'d his own wand, Hermione's relief was suddenly cut through by the most evil and sinister laughter she had ever heard before.

"_Avada Kedavra_," hissed a voice, and she whirled around just in time to see Harry's eyes widen in surprise as the curse reached him. Then he fell and she could see his face turn to ashen and his brilliant emerald eyes into hazy glass.

---

Hermione woke with a cry and it took her several long moments to realize that it had been only a dream, that she was still alive and Voldemort had not just slain Harry in front of her eyes.

But it had been so vivid, so realistic... as if it hadn't been a dream at all. As if it had been... a divination.

---

Later when Blaise came to her answer, she raised her chin, looked him straight in the eye and chose death, proud and loyal.

"I've got nothing to lose," she told him.

"_Au contraire, mon amore, au contraire,_" he replied her with complete seriousness. "You have everything to lose."

And suddenly Hermione realized he was right.

* * *

**A/N:** If I had been really cruel, I would have ended the chapter a couple of lines before and let you all believe Hermione was really dead. But I simply couldn't be that cruel. OK, are you now happy enough (that she is not dead) to leave me a review? I hope you are. :)  



	10. Chapter 10: Welcome to the Order

**A/N:** This is my favourite chapter of this story so far. I loved writing Neville. In fact, I decided I am Neville. I'm nervous, and a bit clumsy, and my hands shake, and I'm not too confident about myself, so yeah, I'm Neville. :) And proud of it!

_**Read & enjoy!**_**  
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**Disclaimer:** Harry Potter belongs to J. K. Rowling. Lilya Doonlen, my beta incarnate, does belong to me. So don't go stealing her, she might not appreciate it. And believe me, she is not a person you would like to have being mad at you. **  
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**---****  
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**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 10: Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix**_  
_In which Neville is a man on a mission, Moody thinks he is too old for romance, Harry goes hysterical, Draco has an emotional breakdown, and Milla comes to rescue._

Neville was a man on a mission. It wasn't that he hadn't done things for the Order before, after all, he was their number one supplier of magical herbs and plants. Excelling in Herbology, he knew where, how and when specific plants needed to be gathered, and how to deal with them. He even grew a large variety of some of the most needed herbs in his back garden. And when it came to especially rare plants, he was usually the one sent to purchase them since he knew their right value and wouldn't let shopkeepers overcharge him.

It was a job as dangerous as any other since as a member of the Order, the Death Eaters were after him as well, and should they catch him, it would be a rather severe blow to the others. At least, that was what he kept telling himself. _They need my plants, you have to be careful, Neville, what would they do without you? _Probably find someone else who knew about plants. Like this very nice girl he was sometimes working with. Lilya Doonlen, that was her name. She was half-blood and fascinated with Muggle Science, determined that it would help her discover new usages for both magical and muggle plants when it came to Potions. She had attented Dumstrang but was not one bit into Dark Arts, and Neville was certain she would be a good asset to the Order. He hadn't asked her yet, but he was sure she would be delighted to join.

She was a nice girl, Lilya, and despite his awkwardness towards people and social situations, he had found her almost as easy to talk to as his plants. She was pretty, smart, kind and humorous, and she had two traits Neville was especially fond of. First, she liked to spend time with herbs, and second, she liked to spend time with him. Plus, she always enjoyed talking about plants with him.

Neville shook his head to get rid of those thoughts, even though they were rather nice ones. But he was a man on a mission, and he had to concentrate on other things. Like the mission he was currently on. Which involved less plants and more Death Eaters than he was happy with. Sure, it wasn't a raid into one of Dark Side's headquarters nor was it about intelligence. It was about one specific Death Eater and it didn't even include assassination, for which Neville was rather grateful. Still, it was far away from the things he usually did, so he couldn't be much blamed for the nervousness he was radiating at the moment. At least, he hoped no one would.

He also knew he hadn't got this mission out of the blue. Someone had not only recommended him for this, but had specifically requested his participation in this one-man mission. He didn't know who this person had been, or why they had picked out him from all the available Aurors. And he wasn't even an Auror, per se. He had been part of Dumbledore's Army and had had some Auror training as well, but his love had always been herbs and plants. But he was able to protect himself, should it prove necessary. It probably would. He didn't know whether whoever had demanded him for the mission wanted him dead or thought it was time he actually did something worthwhile for the Order – he knew some people thought that since he wasn't risking his life twenty-four seven, he wasn't doing anything at all. But he knew he was risking his life twenty-four seven merely by being a member of the Order, and he was proud helping them with his knowledge and abilities as much as he could.

So he had accepted this mission without any doubts, and he wasn't having second thoughts right now either. Except that if it had been his decision, he had been the last person he would have chosen for this.

Neville stopped, staring at the buidling in front of him. He had reached a small pretty renaissance style house with a brier standing on either side of its door. Neville gulped nervously, sent a quick glance at the yellow tulips in his hand to make sure they were still as pretty as they had been when he had picked them from his own garden, and raised his hand to knock. But before he had the chance to do it or chicken out and run away, the door jumped open revealing a young woman clad in mauve dress robes. Neville gulped again.

The next five minutes they spent staring at each other, both shocked and speechless. For his part, Neville was desperately trying to think up something to say, but all his brain was telling him was how gorgeous the woman in front of her really was and how wonderful she would look on his arm, especially with yellow tulips. Her hair was black and wavy and arranged into intricate hairdo which let a few locks fall onto her shoulders framing her face. Her deep blue eyes seemed to be piercing through his mind, and in their depths an azure fire flickered. She was still with a square build and heavy jaw like back at school, but now her rough angles seemed much softer and delicate, and even though she was in no way fragile or petite, there was an aura of exoticness about her. Neville gulped for the third time already.

In the end, when he had concluded that she wasn't going to say anything anytime soon, and he wasn't going to come up with any smart and charming comment either, he just stretched out his hand with the flowers towards her, and let a sigh of relief drop from his lips when she accepted them a moment later.

He had been right. She did look more beautiful with yellow tulips.

After that, things went better. She asked him in, politely, and he apologized for coming unannounced. She said she was happy he had, and that she had been delighted to meet him in St. Mungo the week before. She lead him into the living-room where they had sat down and talked about weather and school and similar things before she had at last asked him THE question.

"Why did you come here, Neville?"

_That's it, _he told himself. _This is the moment of truth._

"I heard you were having doubts."

"About what?" she inquired, although her voice had gone up a note.

"About what is happening right now."

"And what would that be?"

"The war, Millicent. I'm sure you have noticed it?" he said, rather surprised at his own choice of words. He wasn't really known for sarcasm.

"I've noticed. Why are you here?" she demaded, her tone taking up a dangerous edge.

"I heard you were having second thoughts. About... about Voldemort."

With a screech, Millicent was on her feet and slapped her hand unceremoniously on his mouth.

"Don't speak these things!" she hissed. "It's not safe!"

Neville, unable to say a word since her hand was blocking his mouth, could only stare at her, and that he did. The blue flame was burning brightly in her eyes but it didn't frighten him. Though, that might have also been because she hadn't cursed him yet, or even tried to. But somehow, looking at her, he started to think that his information had been correct – she was indeed having second thoughts. He gently removed her hand, but did not let go of it.

"We can protect you," he said.

She shook her head.

"No, you can't. But you are right, anyway. I am fighting for the wrong side and I am aware of this. And I am ready to betray."

The last sentence was whispered and sent an icy jolt down his spine for its intensity. For one, he had never believed it would be this easy. For two, even though she seemed to be doubting, he wasn't sure whether she meant what she said, or whether she meant it the way he thought she meant it.

"Then come with me," he urged, one hand slightly squeezing hers, the other tightening around his wand.

"Promise me one thing," she told him, and it sounded like a command.

"W-What?" he stuttered.

"I can betray my Lord, but I will not betray my friends. Promise me I won't have to. Promise me. Now!"

He didn't know what she was asking of him, but he could guess. She was ready to work against Voldemort but she didn't want to be used to lure her friends into a trap. Her Death Eater friends. And she was not willing to battle against them. What he knew, though, was that he was in no position to be able to promise such a thing and then keep his word, yet he also knew that the Order would need any person they could have, and that she would be able to help them about other things without being sent into open fight. He also knew that someone would get very, very angry at him should he make that promise.

"I promise."

---

Moody was not smiling. That was a good thing. A smiling Moody would have been a very, very bad thing. But he was in a better mood nevertheless. And the reason behind this was that the Order was about to grow by two new members, both recruited by the same person – none other than Neville Longbottom. That boy seemed to have hidden talents. Moody remembered his parents – bloody good Aurors they had both been. Their son, however, despite his unargueable courage and ability to protect himself and even going through some Auror training, never striked as such to him. He seemed to be better at getting things, supplying them with plants and now with new members as well. Auror, or no Auror – he was still the hero of the day.

Two new members – one a herbologist-alchemist and another an ex-Death Eater. Moody was suspicious of them both, but then again, he was suspicious about everyone. And they were both girls as well. Though he couldn't complain, they needed all the people they could get, and Malfoy, also an ex-Death Eater, had turned out to be an invaluable asset to the Order. Besides, a side-shifting Death Eater not only meant one more for them, but also one less for the enemy. Still, he was going to keep a sharp eye on her. On them both.

Moody narrowed his eyes as in walked the two persons he wasn't particularly happy with at the moment – Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, accompanied by Draco Malfoy. Not the usual Golden Tro. And that of course was the crux of matters – the missing Hermione Granger, who had already been missing for almost two weeks. They knew what had happened to her, the destiny threatening any of them these days. Almost two weeks ago she had been captured by the Dark Side, but somehow her friends still hadn't lost hope. Perhaps they were right about her being alive, since as a best friend of Harry Potter she might be too valuable for Voldemort to be simply killed. But that didn't make things easier for them.

The boys were angry at him for not organizing a rescue mission. They were also blaming him for getting her caught in the first place since it had been him who had sent her out that fatal night. Perhaps he had been a bit too harsh, but this was necessary for the discipline. And without discipline, they would have no chance to win. And sending her out on a false mission had seemed like a good idea. After all, he hadn't been as stupid as to send her on a real mission, in the condition she had been that night. But sitting a couple of hours in the rain was a punishment good enough. Yet things had gone terribly wrong.

Moody knew that Hermione Granger, with her knowledge and abilities, was another invaluable member of the Order. She was good for the morale as well, with her brilliance and passion for everything she did. And her faith. She was so sure they would win the war eventually that several others had found hope from her. And now she was gone. On the contrary of what Harry and Ron believed, he would have organized a rescue mission for her, had they known where she was being kept. But they didn't and because of that, he couldn't send Aurors to free her either. He had told them to keep their ears open for any mention of her, though, but this had produced no results this far. And so had her three friends been searching for her without any outcome yet.

He had forbidden them to do it, but he was not going to punish them, as long as they completed their missions and did it on their own free time. He was actually hoping they would find her, but no luck so far. Moody wondered when they would stop their search. He wished that it wouldn't happen too soon since this way they had another purpose, another reason to stay alive and keep fighting. He didn't even want to imagine what would happen to his three best young Aurors, should they give up their hope one day.

Extracting himself from his thoughts, Moody noticed that everyone who had to be present had arrived, and he stood up slowly, moving his drilling gaze to the two girls standing in front of him.

He had already tested them by himself before presenting them to the others. The interrogation had involved cross-questioning, Veritaserum and Legilimency. They had both passed, otherwise they wouldn't be there right now.

The taller, larger and darker woman was the ex-Death Eater, yet Moody was more suspicious of the other girl, shorter, fairer and more innocent looking. He knew she was something between a Herbologist and an Alchemist, working mostly with herbs and their usage in Potions. She was rather insignificant, too, with her medium height, shoulder-length dirty blonde hair and quite pretty grey eyes, come to think of it. Moody mentally kicked himself – she was far too young for him. And he really was **not** looking for a romatic relationship. But except for her eyes, she was a girl like any other, and not someone people would remember very easily. So she already had a natural disguise and that was good, but such inconspicuous people always managed to make him uneasy. As if simply because they looked so innocent meant they were actually quite the opposite.

But Lilya Doonlen had said nothing suspicious under the Veritaserum, nor was there any evil thoughts in her mind. She was what she said she was – a Half-Blood Herbologist and Alchemist. And she had even had the opportunity to study under the hand of Nicolas Flamel. Lucky girl.

For a moment Moody wondered whether she had a Philosopher's Stone in her back pocket but dismissed the idea as utterly ridiculous. But he still couldn't deny there was something about the girl he didn't like.

---

Draco had had no opportunity to talk to Millicent during the meeting, and after it the D-Trio had hurried off to their usual activities. Which had so far given no results whatsoever.

It was getting more and more hopeless every day. With each passing day Ron seemed to do at least twice as much yelling as the previous, Harry seldom asked whether Hermione was all right, and Draco rarely said anything at all. Of course, as long as they knew she was alive, they would keep going, until they found her or died trying, but that situation had taken a drastic turn two days ago, when Hermione had been missing for 11 days already.

"Is she alive?" Harry had asked.

Draco didn't speak, but started to shake his head.

"Why are you shaking you're head, Malfoy?" Harry had lost it. "Don't shake your head. You can't be meaning... You don't mean... You aren't telling... It's not _that_..."

Draco didn't do a thing to calm him down, mostly because he really didn't know how, and while he was not going to pour out his own frustrations with yelling and hysterics, it was a bit relieving to watch someone else do it. But he didn't keep the truth from Harry.

"It doesn't necessary mean she is dead. It could also mean that the bond has been broken."

"You mean you don't love her anymore?" Harry said with a relief so immense that Draco couldn't help but feel a bit insulted.

"I mean she has blocked her end of it," he pressed through his teeth.

"It can be blocked?"

"Of course it can. I blocked my end of it as soon as I realized what was going on," he explained.

"Why did you do that?" Harry exclaimed.

"Because if I hadn't, she would have felt my pain just like I felt hers."

"But you didn't tell her to block her end?"

"No. Because then I wouldn't have known whether she was all right."

Now it was Harry's time to shake his head.

"Who would have thought the Slytherin Bastard Extraordinaire could be so selfless."

But as it was, this meant they couldn't be sure anymore if Hermione was alive or not and with each passing day a bit of their hope and faith seemed to extinguish. None of them, however, were ready to give up just yet.

---

In fact, Draco and Millicent didn't have the chance to meet, other than the brief smiles and nods sent over the table at Order meetings, until five days after Millicent's joining. Even then it had been Harry, not Draco, who had given her the address to Draco's and Hermione's apartment and all the necessary charms to get there. It was protected with a great variety of spells, including Fidelius with Harry as their Secret-Keeper. Even Draco had accepted him as the best choice for it.

Now, Milla was there, almost half an hour early and wandering around the place with curiousity. After having examined most of it, she sat down to the living-room couch and let herself smile. The place was almost sceaming for Draco, but only if one really knew him. It wasn't green and silver like Slytherin's room, nor red and black like his room at the Malfoy Manor. It was decorated in the tones of light beige, ivory, azure and yes, silver. Blue and silver, not green and silver, were Draco's favourites, although he had once admitted to her that blue and gold looked pretty good as well, and he might even go as far as gold and crimson. Although at that point he had been drunk and she had been keeping this information as a means to blackmail him later on, should it prove necessary. Not anything evil of course, just the friendly type of blackmail. She had never used it though and had already forgotten it, only to be reminded of it again today.

The furniture here was classy and comfortable, nothing too royal, but some rather pretty items nevertheless like the dark mahagony table with carved legs and edges, comfortable Victorian chair with mauve padding, and the lantern with ancient runes, the meaning of which she didn't know, hovering near the ceiling of the bedroom.

Although she had been told that the place was a home for both Draco and Hermione, and despite the easily noticable feminine touch it had, Millicent still let herself rummage through the wardrobe to make sure, without the slicest bit of guilt. She was a Slytherin after all. That Granger girl seemed to have pretty good taste and she seemed to be aware of Draco's favourite colour combinations as well. She had even found a rather revealing midnight blue nightie with intricate silver patterns and couldn't help but grin wickedly to the empty room before tossing the garment back to where it had been, and turning away from the closet to rummage through any another stuff. Most of which were surprise! surprise! books.

Another thing she had found especially to her liking was the large painting on the bedroom wall. The first time she noticed it, Millicent had stopped in her tracks and taken another look to make sure the first had been correct. But even on the second time, the painting was still the same – a dragon, a maiden and a large pile of books with the girl leaning on them and listening with fascination as the dragon seemed to be telling her something from the book currently opened in front of him. It was a Muggle painting, still and unmoving, but which captured her attention beside the scene itself was the way these two were looking at each other – the look of love and adoration. The dragon and his girl. Millicent chuckled at the symbolism.

She had heard about those two before, mostly from Pansy who hadn't been very happy about it. Not only had the Gryffindor Golden Girl stolen him from Voldemort, she had also stolen him from Pansy. Millicent was quite sure that the latter would have followed Draco to the side of light, had he not dumped her before that and let himself be saved by another girl. She herself had never blamed him for changing sides, nor loving a Muggleborn, she was just sad he had this way left his friends behind as well. Those few who had really cared for him, like her, and Theo, and, believe it or not, Crabbe and Goyle as well. But his move had made them enemies and there was nothing she could have done to change it. Except what she had done now. And if there was ever one choice in her life she didn't regret, this was it.

Anyways, she had nothing against Hermione Granger despite the rather stormy beginning they had had in school, and she was looking forward to meeting her and start anew, this time as friends. Of course, she really wanted to see Draco, as well.

As if on clue, green flames sprung from the fireplace, and a moment later a figure emerged from them, followed by two others. She looked up in greeting but instead of Draco her eyes fell upon none other than Theodore Nott.

"Theo!" Milla exclaimed and jumped to her feet. "What are you doing here? And... Crabbe? Goyle?" she looked to the two large figures behind him, her face forming an expression of utter shock and surprise.

"Sorry, Milla," said Nott. "You're a bit early, and the potion should wear off any minute now."

But before she had any chance to ask what he was meaning with that, the three boys in front of her started to change. Their hair turned to silver, red and black, eyes grey, blue and green respectively. The forms of Crabbe and Goyle thinned, and Nott gained some height. Millicent could do nothing but watch in awe as Nott, Crabbe and Goyle turned into Draco, Ron and Harry.

Only when the transformation was complete, did she let a gasp leave her lips.

"Sorry, Milla," said Draco, but he didn't get to explain anything yet, as his old friend suddenly let out a cry of joy and practically threw herself into him. He caught her, and twirled her round and let out a laugh of merriment of his own to the complete shock of the two other persons in the room.

"Nice to see you, too, Milla," he chuckled as he finally put her down.

"Have you lost some weight since school or haven't you just jumped into me for too long time?" he teased her and dodged her playful punch.

"But you do look wonderful, Milla, although I'm sure Longbottom has already told you this. A thousand of times. Or more."

Millicent gave him another friendly shove, this time careful not to miss.

"So I suppose it were you the last time as well?" she asked as the four of them had taken a seat.

"Yup. Sorry to deceive you, Milla, but we couldn't really have walked in in our natural skins without immediately having to face the business ends of at least a dozen wands."

"I don't know about that, Draco. Some people probably would have been smart enough to get out of there as fast as possible instead of staying to fight with the three most feared Aurors of these days."

"But surely, Milla, not all of them would have been this clever and the big prize the Dark Lord has for my head is probably quite alluring, not to mention the reward of bringing him one Harry Potter."

"Oh, I suppose so. But you were lucky not to run into the real Nott since he comes there pretty often."

Draco's eyes darkened at that. He knew that Nott had been a good friend of Milla, and now he also knew that Nott had had doubts of his own. But he also knew that Nott was dead.

"I heard he was away in Russia," he explained carefully.

"Oh, yes, that's true. He went to see Natasha. And, speaking of girlfriends, Draco, where is yours? I've really been looking forward to seeing the girl that dragged you to the side of light, and who you finally managed to get after years of drooling over. I remember you were crazy about her back in school, ever since that Forth Year Yule Ball which she attended with that Krum."

Draco, who had looked rather miserable when she had first asked to see Hermione now grew an expression of indignation.

"Hey!" he protested. "I did not drool over Hermione back a school. And certainly not since that Yule Ball."

"Yes, you did," she argued mischieviously. "I happened to see the look on your face when you saw her in that electric blue dress robe. And later Pansy complained to me that you had been looking at her the whole evening and hadn't paid your own date any attention at all."

"So I was shocked. But I still hated her. And I didn't switch sides because of her, we became involved much later."

"Sure, Draco," she taunted. "Deny it as much you want to, you were attracted to her back in school. And she was at least one of the reasons you left the Dark Lord."

"Whatever, Milla," he gave up far too quickly for her. "You were always as stubborn as a Gryffindor."

The girl gasped with feigned hurt.

"How dare you, Draco Malfoy, insult me like that! I'm a Slytherin through and through."

"Why do you think it was an insult? My girlfriend is a Gryffindor, after all, and your boyfriend as well."

"Neville isn't..." she started, but stopped and blushed.

"Well, anyway," she quickly changed the topic. "Where is she?"

"I don't know," said Draco honestly and she had no trouble reading the hurt in his eyes.

"You didn't break up, did you?" she enquired. "Because if you did, you better find her and apologize as soon as possible. You two are meant to be together."

"It's not that," Draco sighed. "She had been missing for 18 days already."

"Missing like..." Millicent started slowly, frowning with concern.

"Missing as the enemy got her. I don't even know if she is alive. We have been looking for her the whole time, but so far... nothing."

"Oh, Draco, I'm so sorry," she said sincerely now seeing the full extent of his pain. She moved closer to him to embrace him consolingly.

"I don't know what I do if I can't find her," he murmured to her, completely oblivious that Harry and Ron where still there, exchanging surprised glances every other moment. "It's going to kill me, Milla, it's simply going to kill me. She is my life."

"Shhh," she whispered softly. "It's going to be all right. Everything will work out fine. Shh, baby, don't cry."

Harry found the look on Ron's face most amusing, but at the same time he had a bad feeling that they had been witnessing something they shouldn't have. He had considered to take his leave already when Millicent had hugged Malfoy the first time but simple curiousity had beckoned him to stay. And Ron, who for some reason seemed most reluctant to leave.

Now, however, he thought was really the last time to leave, and he tried to tell that to Ron with a meaningful glance, except his friend was staring too intently at the scene before them to notice any of Harry's tries to get his attention. And as he was sitting in the armchair across the small tea table from him, he couldn't simply kick him in the ribs either.

"I'm sorry, Milla," Draco finally said, extracting himself from her arms and giving her a forced half-smile.

"For what, Draco?"

"For losing my temper like this. I usually don't get this... emotional."

"Only when you're drunk, Draco," Milla laughed and waved the matter away.

"What are friends for?" she smiled him.

"I really did miss you, Milla."

"So did I."

"So, I see you've made more than one Gryffindor friend," said Milla a long moment later, glancing around in the room and trying to sound light-hearted.

Draco started, and the look he gave to Harry told him that he had indeed forgotten they were still here. Seeing the slight panic in his eyes, Harry tried to seem as innocent as possibly, as if someone who had not really noticed what had been happening before him in the last quarter of the hour. But for all his efforts, the expression on Ron's face told everything he wanted to hide.

And then Draco sighed again.

"We're just looking for Hermione together," he explained.

"Ah, the beginning of a beautiful friendship," Milla breathed sarcastically.

Suddenly Harry knew what was to come next and he didn't like it one bit. But Ron had already opened his mouth and he didn't have time to reach for his wand and _Silence_ him anymore. So he tried a different approach.

"We really should get going," he cut off Ron's unstarted tirade and stood up.

But Ron, like always these days, was having none of this.

"Nice performance, Malfoy," he sneered. "But if you really think I'm going to believe the mushy-gushy cry party and the dramatics, you are seriously underestimating me. You have always been and you will always be a Death Eater scum unable to feel anything even resembling to love."

"Ronald Bilius Weasley!" Millicent thundered springing to her feet. 

Harry briefly wondered how she knew Ron's middle name but quickly realized it really didn't matter in the present situation.

The girl had walked up to the other armchair and was now hovering menacingly over her victim.

"Draco is my friend, and I will not have anyone saying these things about him. If you are too stupid to see how much he is really hurting, then it's you who has less brain cells than either Crabbe and Goyle. Actually, you probably have less brain cells than them anyway, since they're my friends and I know that they aren't half as stupid as you all think, but if you believe that you can insult Draco like that before me then I better show you what we, Slytherins, do to those who hurt people we care about."

Ron had sunk deep into his armchair at that, and looked rather intimidated. Millicent was still looming over him and looking almost as scary as Hermione in her full anger.

Harry gave Millicent an appreciative look and ushered Ron to the fireplace. After he had Flood away, he turned to her again.

"Thank you, Bulstrode. I'm glad to have you on my side."

"Thanks, Potter," she chuckled. "You're not so bad yourself."

**---**

**A/N:**

If you'd like to see the picture that was on Draco & Hermione's bedroom wall, then go there:

www(dot)hot(dot)ee(slash)merliuus(slash)19(dot)jpg

Or follow the link in my profile.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, and I hope you will leave me a review, too. :)


	11. Chapter 11: When All Hope Is Lost

**A/N:** Hugs and cookies and jumping sheep to all my readers and reviewers! Love you all. :)

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**Disclaimer:** How many disclaimers have you read today? How many of them were interesting? Well, this one is going to be really, really boring. All I'm saying here is that _Harry Potter_ belongs to J. K. Rowling and not to be. Have I bored you to death yet? No? You want to know what I own? Well, let me tell you then. I own the _Ayleianda_. You have no idea what _Ayleianda_ is? Well, go and read the story then. :)

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**Everything To Lose**

**_Chapter 11: When All Hope Is Lost_**  
_In which hope is lost, northern wind blows in revenge and another mission is due._

"Tomorrow is the day," Harry announced almost sacredly.

"What day?" Ron grumbled, not even bothering to raise his head.

"Tomorrow is the day we will find Hermione."

"That's what you've been telling us every day this last month, Potter. Do you still believe it yourself?"

They were sitting once again in Draco's and Hermione's living-room after another night of unsuccessful search. Ron was slumped on the couch, too tired to yell.

"What else can we do, Malfoy? When all hope is lost, all we can do is hope. Do you want to give up? Stop searching?" Harry was on the verge of hysteria once again. It was happening to him far too often these days.

"No," Draco stated calmly. "We won't stop. I will never stop. I will be looking for her for the rest of my life, however long that would be."

At other times Harry would have actually felt sorry for him when he spoke like that, but right now he was not thinking sanely any more. While Ron had yelled, he had kept quiet most of the time, and now he really needed to let all of it out. And since Ron had almost passed out, there was no one else but Malfoy to be angry at.

"Which is not very long should you continue with that attitude!"

"Oh, for the love of Morgana, calm down, Potter."

"Calm down? Calm down! I AM CALM!" Harry screeched at him sounding very much like a banshee.

"Could have fooled me."

"Calm down! You want me to calm down when Hermione is who knows where with such people! Who knows what they are doing to her! What they might be doing to her right now, as we speak! Have you thought about it? Have you given it any consideration at all? As you sit here in your calmness and coldness, she might be dying out here! Hasn't that ever crossed your mind, Malfoy?"

"No, it never crossed my mind," Draco answered, knowing full well that this was not the time to get sarcastic but really not giving a damn. Perhaps Potter would curse him and then he would black out and wouldn't have to think about it every bloody second. Didn't have to think that most probably she was already dead. Dead and lying in a ditch someone – naked, bloody, mutilated.

And the worst part was that he could imagine it so well. Every time he closed his eyes it was all he could see. Dark hair matted with blood and dirt... one arm in an unnatural position... dirty... bloody... eyes open and unseeing.

But he would keep looking for her. He would keep looking until the end of his days, and should he once locate those who did it... Well, he would make them pay for every second of pain they caused her. He would put all those Dark Curses and ways of torture he had learned from the Death Eaters to work. Oh, all the horrible things he would do to them...

"That's it!" Potter yelled and drew his wand. "_Cruc_..."

Someone knocked on the door.

"Weasley," Harry snarled, unwilling to let Malfoy go. "Go and see who it is."

But all he got for an answer was a loud snort since Ron seemed to have fallen asleep.

"Ronald Weasley," he raised his voice considerably. "Get up this second and open the door!"

Harry was not so sure why he needed Ron to open the door, except perhaps for the fact that should he do it himself, his fury would die on his way to the door, and then he would be in no mood to curse Malfoy again, and all his pain and rage would continue to bottle up. He needed to let it all out. He needed to.

"Let Mione get it," Ron mumbled in his sleep.

Harry felt his blood turn to ice. _Let Mione get it. _He felt frozen, unable to move, and all his anger was gone as if it had never been there. At that moment he envied Ron, who slept and dreamt of her.

The knocking resounded, waking Harry from his reverie. Sending Malfoy an almost apologetic look, he walked to the door to open it.

Behind it stood a beautiful young woman with blue eyes and golden locks dressed in silver and pale blue robes trimmed with white fur.

"Are you Draco Malfoy?" she asked him in a pleasant tone.

Harry swallowed and shook his head, then turned around to call for Malfoy, seemingly throwing his caution to the air with having his back towards the strange lady. But this was not as dangerous as it might have been since the place was heavily warded and none who wished harm upon its inhabitants was able to walk through the door untouched and any potentially hurtful spell cast from the outside reflected back to its owner.

When Draco approached, the woman trained her glance upon him and asked the same question, this time getting an affirmative reply.

"I am Natasha Chneshnaja," she introduced herself.

Both Draco and Harry were giving her a blank look until something snapped in the former's mind as a connection was made.

"Nott's girlfriend?" he inquired carefully.

"Ex-girlfriend," Natasha stated firmly and lifted her chin proudly.

Draco found himself wondering whether she had broken up with him because Nott had not returned to her one day, and she had thought him abandon her, unaware that in reality he had been torn apart by werewolves. And suddenly, unbidden, a tinge of guilt sprung from his heart – after all, he could have saved Nott, dragged him back to England and thrown him into Azkaban, instead of standing and watching as his former friend got eaten. And with what Milla had said, about Nott wishing to turn away from Voldemort... but he steeled himself like he had done hundreds of times before. This was war. He had been the enemy. Draco had simply done what was needed to be done. Dark times required dark measures, and sometimes it was necessary to be cruel. The enemy would show no mercy upon them, why should they do it then?

He eyed the woman suspiciously. Was she pretending? Was she here for revenge? Had she somehow learned how her boyfriend had died and now came for payback?

"What can we do for you?" he asked coldly, politely.

She appraised him with her eyes again, and feeling traces of Legilimency, Draco quickly closed his mind, not letting out anything for her to discover. But still he felt as if she was able to read his thoughts perfectly.

"I know Theodore is dead," she said at last. "I know how he died."

He had not expected her to admit it but the fact she had did not make him less wary. He had been right, but this was just some other tactics.

"You are here for revenge?" he went straight to the point, just as she had.

"Yes," Natasha nodded, never taking her eyes off him. "But not in the way you think. I wish you no harm."

"And why should I believe you?"

"Because I wouldn't be able to walk into your home with bad intentions," she answered, and stepped forward to enter. Draco, who was blocking the door, backed away, watching her walk across the threshold. Potter, whose wand was still out and now on their new visitor, moved swiftly behind her and closed the door, leaving the woman between the two of them this way.

Draco was still not convinced, and she understood perfectly. After all, those too trusting didn't live very long these days.

Natasha smiled and slowly raised her hand to her shoulder pushing away the fabric of her robe and revealing a curious marking tattood to her skin. Draco leaned forward to look and recognized the decorated rune.

"You of the Old Blood should know its meaning," she smiled again and pulled the cloth back over the symbol.

And Draco indeed knew. He gave the woman another look, this one more surprised than suspicious, and after a while he nodded in acceptance.

"I wasn't aware there were any of you left," he stated.

"I am one of the last," she smiled wistfully.

Harry, who had felt rather lost during the last part of the conversation, decided it was time to involve himself.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded impatiently.

"She poses us little threat. At least, not tonight," Draco smirked. "But let us get comfortable first. It's not polite to let the lady stand in the hallway. Especially a lady of her kind."

They moved into the living-room and upon seeing Ron still asleep on the couch Harry rushed to wake him up.

"Get up, Ron," he shook him. "We have visitors."

"Who?" grumbled Ron sleepily as he heaved himself into a sitting position.

"An _Ayleianda_," Malfoy announced.

"What!" Ron yelped and jumped to his feet, fumbling around for his wand and dropping it in his frenzy.

Harry again felt left out and he didn't like the feeling one bit. But he could see the nature of Ron's reaction and it made him point his wand on the woman once again.

"What is it?" he inquired once again. "What's an _Ayleianda_?"

"It's a member of a Dark Community. Much like Death Eaters except they serve no one but themselves. But they practice evil magic all the same and do horrible things to those they come upon. They are said to wield dangerous powers, stronger than normal wizards, and at night they transform into monsters and fly out to kill people."

Having finally retrieved his wand and directed it at the woman, Ron added:

"But that was in the past. All _Ayleianda _should be extinct by now."

"Destroyed you mean," Natasha corrected. "Yes, most of us were hunted down and slaughtered. Only those living in faraway places still remain, and even we must hide our true identities."

"Dark Magic?" Harry repeated. "Monsters? Malfoy, you said she was harmless."

"Did I?" he chuckled. "I don't remember saying it. An _Ayleianda _is anything but harmless. But she poses no threat to us for now."

"Why is she here?"

"I told Theodore about my heritage," she said. "And he renounced me. There's only one punishment for rejecting an _Ayleianda_."

"Seems that I'm not responsible for Nott's death after all," Draco remarked dryly.

Now both Ron and Harry were giving him confused glances.

"The punishment for rejecting an _Ayleianda _is death dealt by the same _Ayleianda_. And he did die by my hands. Or more like my fangs." The smile she gave now was anything but reassuring.

"An _Ayleianda _is either a vampire or a werewolf by their own choice," Draco explained. "They will be bitten by either one, and they do it by their free will. They choose to become like this, using the state to gain more power. They do practice some Dark Magic, mostly their intricate rituals, but they only kill for food, and seldom humans."

Harry tried to get comfortable with this new information, but soon realized it was not possible to get comfortable with anything like this. The magic world seemed so full of its mysteries that, having grown up amongst Muggles, he always seemed to have something new to learn.

"And why is this w--" Harry had begun to say 'werewolf' but realized he couldn't use it as an insult for obvious reasons.

"Why is this _Ayleianda _here?" he asked instead.

"I'm not satisfied with the punishment. Ripping him apart and eating his flesh did not completely wash away my hurt of being rejected. I still have to do something to get even. I still have to take revenge."

Draco smirked at the expressions of Potter and Weasley. Whether or not Nott had planned to betray Natasha's secret, the laws of her tribe demanded punishment of the worst kind, but still she was not happy. Tearing him apart limb from limb had not been enough for her, not enough to pay for the hurt he had caused her when turning down a werewolf. But the _Ayleianda_ were not just plain werewolves – they had the history and the power, and for that they were respected and feared amongst those of Old Blood and a liking to Dark Magic. Of course, it would have been required from Nott to become one himself for only _Ayleianda_ were allowed to lie together with _Ayleianda_. So when one of them decided to have you, you really only had two choices – join them or die. _Ayleianda_ always got what they wanted.

"I see," Draco spoke again. "And how can we help you with your revenge?"

"There is a hidden castle near Murmansk. A Death Eater residence."

She had said the phrase _Death Eater_ with such venom and contempt that it was a solid proof that the world did not indeed consist of two kinds of people – the good ones and Death Eaters. Because her tribe clearly despised the latter but could not be counted amongst the former quite freely either.

"Theodore went there while he stayed with me and I know its exact location. I vowed him not to reveal it to anyone, as only a selected few know about it."

She paused and took a small object from her pocket placing it on the table. It was a delicate golden chain.

"It's a Portkey," she explained. "It will take you directly to the castle."

With that, and a small nod to Draco she turned to leave.

"Wait!" Harry called after her. "Why are you doing this?"

"The enemy of my enemy is not always my friend. But the friends of your enemies are your enemies as well. This is the only way I can betray him like he betrayed me. Go and destroy them."

Once she had stepped out of the door, Natasha turned around and flashed them another of her disturbing smiles.

"Hope you will never see me again," she said. "I would gladly feast upon your flesh – one way or another."

When she was gone, Ron gave a visible shudder.

"Nice friends you have, Malfoy," Harry commented.

"_Ayleianda _are friends with no one except present or future _Ayleianda_. But it's always best not to anger them."

Walking to the table, he picked up the deactivated Portkey and stepping to the fire-place, Flood himself wordlessly to Order Headquarters. After exchanging a glance, Harry and Ron did the same.

---

Moody took a full minute to glare at him after Draco had finished the story.

"_Ayleianda_? And you trust her?"

"She would not lie. It's against their codex."

"You trust her?" Moody repeated his question.

Malfoy hesitated only a second. Anyone who knew about the _Ayleianda _knew never to trust them, codex or no codex. It was true that their book of rules did state lying as an unforgivable crime, but they had always been able to either twist their words enough or just eat the witnesses. But he wanted the mission and he knew Moody would cancel it should he say no. He also knew he would send the three of them out on it, and that suited him just fine.

"I trust her."

"Go. Look. Report." With those three words Moody sent them off.

---

The first thing Draco noticed at arriving was the cold. Murmansk was in far north and a thick layer of snow covered the ground, and an icy wind was biting them to the bone. But there was no time for that since just in front of them stood a castle.

If they had come here for anything else than spying, they would have stopped for a moment and enjoyed its beauty. Surrounded by a ring of spruces under a thick carpet of snow and beyond them an eternal field of pure whiteness as far as the eye could see, the castle of white marble seemed to stretch into heaven itself. Contrary to Hogwarts, it only had one tower and the rest of the building formed a crescent around it. The spire was windowless except for a large balcony opening just beneath its vertex which spoke both of majesty and danger. The lower castle curling into the shape of a half-moon was white as well but decorated with intricate patterns of silver and pale blue. Judging by the number of windows, which had all charmed to seem like mirrors from the outside, it had at least fifty rooms.

The D-Trio took it all in but from a slightly different aspect. The tower was high and from it one would have a clear view of the surroundings meaning there was a good chance they had been seen already even though the snow-covered trees had offered them a good refuge. The charmed windows meant that they could be seen from inside without noticing anyone watching them, and fifty rooms meant over a hundred Death Eaters at the most.

At first they had worried that the Portkey would take them into the building itself, that they might land in a room full with enemy wizards, and in the beginning they had heaved a sigh of relief finding themselves among the trees looking at the building. But suddenly getting into the castle equaled with passing under dozens of gazes and arriving to the battlefront of Death Eaters ready for the fight.

True, the aim of the mission had been intelligence only but they were reluctant to go back just yet. It was time to rely on the measures available and hope that the opponent would not discover them.

"I guess it's time your Invisibility Potion to save our lives once again," Harry whispered, fetching three little vials of acid green liquid from his pockets.

"It's at least 300 yards to the building," Malfoy calculated the distance. "The Potion wears off after half a minute at most. It's difficult to run in the snow. We better use Disillusionment as well."

"Perhaps not," Harry argued. "It's easier to detect spellwork than potion. If we use it and they detect us, they detect us right away. If we don't use it and will not make it all the way, they will detect us only then, and perhaps we would get inside before they manage to fully prepare themselves."

Ron had already drawn his wand and was murmuring something under his breath.

"What did you discover?" Harry asked the moment he finished.

"Anti-Apparition, Concealment – probably from the top of the tower and bordered by this circle of trees, and we are inside it, or we wouldn't see the castle… didn't find anything else."

"No movement, sound, or magic sensing wards?"

"Couldn't detect any."

"Strange," Harry pondered. "Death Eaters' headquarters are usually better protected."

"Of course," Malfoy drawled. "Being unplottable and in the middle of nowhere might be the reason to let the other security measures drop a bit. I'm surprised this place is in use at all."

"Rule #3 from Slytherin's Handbook of Survival," Harry drawled right back. "Never underestimate your enemy."

Ron gave him a fake horrified glance.

"Stop it, Harry, you sound just like the Ferret."

"Hey!" claimed Draco and glared at the smug look Potter was undoubtedly giving him. It wasn't that they were mocking him, and it wasn't even that they were mocking him while they should have been concentrating on their mission – it was the twinkle in Potter's eyes, a twinkle much like Dumbledore's, which told him it was only a friendly jest. And that was the problem. Friendly.

Ron, who was always in favour of tormenting Malfoy had noticed the twinkle as well, and realized that if he didn't do something to distract himself really soon, he would become aware of something he would much rather ignore.

"How about Disillusioning ourselves a moment before the Invisibility Potion wears off? This way, if they have spell-detecting charms they still detect us on half way, and if they don't, they never notice us."

"Great idea, Ron!" Harry clapped a little too enthusiastically to be sincere. "Why didn't I think of this? Or you, for that matter. Stupid, aren't we?"

Draco growled at him and in the position of no witty reply coming to his mind and at the same time wishing to be away from Potter, he grabbed the vial from his hands, swallowed the liquid in one gulp and darted out into the open.

Harry and Ron resumed watching him. By the footprints in the snow they were able to tell his location, and after running a little more than half the way, he stopped and continued after a couple of seconds. They trailed the rupture of the snow until he reached the crescent building and stopped by its wall.

"I hope they didn't let him off easy just because of his past," Harry remarked, gave Ron the other vial and left to run the potential gauntlet.

---

"There's no door!" Ron complained after they had circled the building.

"And the windows are too high," he added after a moment. "And I'm reluctant to use too much magic on the house. And…"

"Shut up, Weasel."

"Well, unless you have a better idea, Ferret…"

"It's the tower," Draco cut him off. "The entrance is from the tower."

"But it doesn't even connect to the rest of the building!"

"Ever heard of a thing call magic, Weasel?"

Harry rolled his eyes. At least they were not going to start yelling. Probably. Hopefully.

"And how exactly would you know it?" Ron inquired acidly.

"Because there's no door to the house but there is one to the tower."

"It might be a trap!"

"So?" Draco raised an eyebrow. "This whole thing might be a trap. The important thing is to go prepared."

"I don't have any more of that Potion left," Harry admitted.

"The Disillusionment will do. Let's go."

---

The tower had indeed a door. However, it was locked. And none of the spells they knew and used did them any good whatsoever.

"Damn!" Harry swore under his breath.

"Didn't see that coming, Ferret?" Ron taunted proudly. Of course he would rather have the door open but since it didn't, this was the best way to ground his disappointment.

"There's one more," Draco stated darkly.

"Door?" Harry turned to him. "Where?"

"Not door. Spell."

"Well, what are you waiting for, Ferret? Do it!" Ron commanded.

After sending him an even darker look, Draco turned his left palm up and pointed his wand at it.

"_Seca_," he hissed, and a cut appeared in his skin. He raised the hand and let the blood flow for a second before pressing it to the door.

For a moment nothing happened. Then Harry saw Malfoy clench his teeth in something that must have been an agony, but before he managed to pull him away, a dazzling ring of blue light appeared on the surface of the door and when it waned what was left was a round blotch on the white marble of a substance similar to water, only thicker and black like night.

"Who dares to enter?" a cold voice rang out a moment later.

Draco said nothing but rolled down the sleeve of his bloodied hand revealing the snake and the skull.

It seemed to be enough because the odd substance disappeared and the door swung open.

---

"It wanted blood?" Ron shuddered in the doorway peeking cautiously into the darkness inside.

"Not just any blood," Malfoy commented dryly.

"Pure blood," said Harry. It was not a question.

---

Once they dared to make it inside, the doorway closed soundlessly leaving them in the pitch blackness.

"_Lu_…" Harry started but was disrupted.

"Wait, Potter. Don't cast any spell," Malfoy ordered.

"Why?" demanded Ron.

"Just wait one more moment."

"And what am I waiting…"

Torches sprung to light on either side of them, revealing a hallway.

"For," he feebly finished his sentence.

The walls and ceiling of the passage were of the same white cold marble but the floor was covered with thick dark blue carpet. Looking along the way they saw it bend in the distance.

Both Ron and Draco set off at once but Harry lingered back.

"We were just supposed to observe and report," he answered to their questioning glances.

"And that we will do, Potter. Only what we are supposed to observe and report is the number of enemies not the colour of the carpet," Malfoy answered.

Harry had to admit that that did make sense. For a fleeting moment he had a vision of himself sitting before Moody and explaining: "Then we found ourselves in a tunnel of white marble. It had a carpet, too. It was blue. Dark blue. And then we came back." At pulling off such a trick, Moody would probably turn him into a ferret. Or worse.

So he strengthened his grip on his wand and followed them.

The hallway turned and ended with a staircase leading only upwards. It was a usual one, not the spiral kind found in towers, but Harry doubted they were still inside the spire. The corridor behind them had been simply too long for that, and even though the place could have been enlarged magically, he rather thought they had reached the main building.

After the stairs came another hallway leading up to a single door. They paused before it and exchanged glances, having a voiceless conversation. All seemed in favour of entering and so a moment later Harry pushed the door open.

The room behind it was large and warm. A huge fireplace sat on either side of it, emitting soft light and much desired heat after the biting cold of northern lands. Additional light was coming from several torches on the wall, as well as white candles hovering up in the air. It was furnished with another thick carpet, this of the colour of dark green, a couple of armchairs in front of the fireplaces and a sofa, all in darker tones. In the far wall three high windows looked over the whiteness of outside, and by one of them was a small round table. At the middle one, which was situated in its own niche, lay a crimson window seat.

Harry was about to move his gaze to the third window when something suddenly caught his eye. He looked again and what he saw made him almost gasp. There on the window seat a lone figure was sitting, her long black straight hair falling loosely and her eyes looking down at something in her lap. She was clad in red robes and that must have been the reason he had overlooked her at first.

She hadn't moved yet nor raised her glance, and Harry hoped she hadn't noticed them yet. Intent on Stunning her before she got the chance of raising alarm, Harry pointed his wand and was halfway through speaking the incantation in his mind, when suddenly his jaw dropped and brain shut down.

The woman had raised her head and looked him straight in the eye and he had recognized her.

It was Hermione.

* * *

**A/N:**

Don't you just love Natasha? Damn I like her!

Well, now you know what happened to Hermione. Well, not all of it. Now you know where she is at least. And to those who feared I might kill her, well, I'm not going to kill one of my main characters in the middle of the story. And if you're now wondering how long this is going to be, then I think about 25..30 chapters.

Did you like the picture in Hermione & Draco's bedroom? I do. And since I think it's cool to get pictures with stories, then there's a sketch of that castle in Murmansk in my profile. I must warn you, it's a really bad sketch, and the building has no windows because I am too lazy to draw them. But check it out anyway, if you like. :)

**And now review! Or else I'll threaten you. :P**


	12. Chapter 12: The Happiest Day of My Life

**HUGE thanks to the following people:** Genetic Island, Anon, Kyra4, WannaBArtist, ODST girl058, Dark-Illusion1, supafly09, LadyKillingSpree, BA de Danone, jeanselina, forkslover1.

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**Disclaimer:** I disclaim Harry Potter. I hope he doesn't take it personally.

* * *

**Everything To Lose**

**_Chapter 12: The Happiest Day of My Life_**_  
In which the D-Trio finds at last what they are looking for, Hermione gives a passionate kiss and gets abandoned, and something horrible is revealed._

For many long moments all he could do was stare. At first he didn't believe what he was seeing and expected the vision to disappear any second now. But it didn't and he kept staring. The very previous evening Harry had said that tomorrow they would find Hermione and even though he kept saying it every day, and even though he had not believed him then, now it was tomorrow and Hermione was sitting in front of them.

Ron suddenly felt his heart explode of the many sensations he was having. First there was surprise, complete and utter shock, then came relief, followed by exhilaration, then apprehension and worry. He was not going to analyze his feelings since he had never been any good at this, but he let the overwhelming relief and joy took power of him, and a goofy grin appeared on his face.

They had found her. After months of searching they had finally found her. And she was alive, she was safe and she _looked_ unharmed.

"Hermione," he gasped, stepping towards her, craving to hold her in his arms again, feel her skin against his own and her warm breath upon his neck. It had been far too long since he last held her.

She looked at the three of them, but her eyes failed to flash in the merry sparkle they usually did when seeing her friends. Her mouth didn't form a smile and her expression stayed absolutely blank. She looked at them and she saw them, but she didn't seem to recognize them.

A dark fear suddenly enveloped Ron and a ball of dread was forming in his stomach. What had they done to her? She looked different than before with her former bushy brown hair now sleek and black, but her physical appearance didn't bother him much. She was still the same Hermione, even though he had grown to love her untamed curls. But what frightened him was her expression, still cold and emotionless bearing no hint of recognition or even surprise. She hadn't seen her friends for months but now she was looking at them as if they were strangers to her. She could have never forgotten them, but it was able to make her forget...

"Hermione, it's us, your friends," he implored her. "It's me, Ron. Don't you remember me?"

His heart clenched painfully at another blank look he received as a reply. Hermione slowly rose from the seat and carefully placed down the book she had been reading, then turned towards them and folded her arms.

"I know exactly who you are, Ronald Weasley," she stated coldly.

At the tone of her voice and the way she used his full name, Ron felt his biggest fears come true. They had indeed _Obliviated_ her, those bastards, and told her lies about her friends.

But he pushed away the coming despair and hopelessness – he had felt them too often lately – and tried again.

"I'm your friend, Hermione. You remember me, don't you? You remember how we went together to Hogwarts? Remember all the things we did with Harry? The troll we saved you from at our first year? And then how we went after..."

"The Philosopher's Stone trying to protect it from the Dark Lord? The Chamber of Secrets and being turned to stone by the Basilisk? Going back in time to rescue Sirius Black? The Tri-Wizard tournament? Fighting Death Eaters in the Ministry? The night Dumbledore was killed? Finding and destroying each and every one of the Horcruxes? Locating the village and taking down all the Death Eaters there, minus Peter Pettigrew who managed to escape? Do I remember all of these? Yes, Ronald Weasley, I remember all of these."

Ron let out a sigh of relief. She remembered. But then why...

"Why do you keep calling me 'Ronald Weasley'?"

"Isn't that your name?"

"Yes, but..."

Ron wasn't able to finish since all of a sudden another voice called out from some other room.

"Who are you talking to, honey?" it asked.

"We've got guests," Hermione called back.

"Who?" the voice sounded curious.

"Ronald Weasley, Harry Potter, and Draco Malfoy," she loudly spoke their names, granting each of them a short look, before turning toward the voice which now was accompanied by hurrying footsteps.

A moment later Blaise Zabini walked into the room, surveyed the scene and grinned rather maliciously. But before speaking to them he turned to Hermione.

"Did you forget to lock the front door after your walk today?" he questioned.

"I locked it," she shrugged. "But all it needs is Pure Blood and a Dark Mark and at least one of your guests lives up to both criteria."

"Oh, yes," Blaise agreed. "You think we should tighten our security?"

"Perhaps. How many traitorous Death Eaters know our location?"

"None," he frowned.

"Apparently one does," she stated calmly. "Want me to get rid of them?"

"No need, Babe. In fact," he smirked, "I've been looking forward to meeting them."

"Suit yourself," she shrugged again and turned to walk away. As she passed him, Blaise stretched out his hand and grabbing her arm he pulled her to him and captured her mouth in a savage kiss.

This finally ended everyone's stupor and the air was suddenly full of shouts.

"Get away from her, you bastard!"

"Let her go, you scum!"

"I will kill you, Zabini."

Granted, he let her go, but finding three wands pointed at him didn't seem to intimidate him, instead he gave them another smug smile.

"But she likes it. Don't you, babe?" he turned to Hermione.

She sent him a glance through her dark lashes, a glance that was obviously seducing, and throwing her arms round his neck she kissed him long and passionately, leaving them both slightly breathless as she pulled away.

"I told you she likes it," Blaise announced victoriously.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER?" Ron yelled. "You bastard! You have her under _Imperius_!"

"No, he doesn't," Hermione replied, moving out of his embrace to stand beside him, arms folded and an ugly sneer on her face. "You really think I'm weak enough not to fight an _Imperius_? Even Potter manages to do it."

But Ron was not convinced.

"What did you do to her?" he yelled again and shot forward, moving his wand in a threatening way.

Blaise spared it only a glance and then raised his brows mockingly.

"That's it, bastard, you're gonna get it now! _Stupe_--"

But he had to halt his curse since Hermione suddenly stepped in front of Blaise.

"Get out of the way, Hermione," Ron hissed, shaking with fury, but she stood her ground.

Not knowing what to do he sent Harry a pleading look, but the Boy Who Lived seemed too shocked and clueless himself.

Deciding it was time to act, Draco swiftly crossed the room and pulled Hermione out from between Ron and Blaise, giving the former a clear way to attack. But he let the opportunity pass, simply too shocked to see him use sheer force against the girl he claimed to love.

The moment Draco had first noticed Hermione he thought his heart would stop. Time seemed to have halted as well, and he hadn't been able to do anything but stare. The first thing he felt after the shock, however, was pain. It was different from the pain he had felt before but it was still sharp and intense. It hurt him to see her after so much time. But this pain he cherished. This pain was good.

The idea that this was a dream did indeed pass his mind but he quickly banished it, wanting to hope this was real, wishing to believe it was true, that they had really found her. And if it was indeed a dream, he wanted to enjoy it while it lasted.

His thoughts about her cold demeanor were surprisingly the same as Ron's at first, as he too feared her memory might have been modified. The way she had looked at him, her eyes, always warm and full of emotion now so void and empty, it had almost broken his heart. But, opposite to Ron, he knew that look – after all, hadn't he seen it for years staring back at him from the mirror. Her expression was not necessarily cold, it was simply guarded. Just like him she wore a mask, not letting any of her emotions escape, not letting anyone see what she was really feeling.

When Blaise had walked in, Draco had to hold himself back not to _Crucio_ him on spot. When he had kissed her, he had to hold himself back not to strangle him with his bare hands. When _she_ had kissed _him_, he had stopped himself midway sending him a nice juicy Killing Curse.

Now, holding her gently by her arms, relishing her warmth and the feel of her, the smell of her, gazing deep into her eyes, he momentarily forgot all about Blaise or the rest of the world. She was here now, in his arms, and he was never going to let her go again. He loved her. He loved her so much it hurt. But it was the best kind of pain, and she was here now and he would keep her safe for the rest of his life, at whatever cost.

Craving to have her closer to him, he wrapped his arms around her and placed a chaste kiss upon her lips, nothing deep or passionate, but loving and tender.

"I love you," he whispered, hiding his face in her hair and taking deep breaths. "I love you so much."

And for a moment, life was pure heaven for Draco.

Only too soon did it turn back to hell.

Pushing him away none too gently, Hermione let out a short cruel mirthless laugh.

"Sorry, Malfoy," she cast him a smirk. "But I'm with Blaise now."

And she moved to stand by his side once again, leaning against his form.

"See?" Blaise said, snaking an arm around her waist. "She _wants_ to be here. I'm not keeping her as a prisoner, she is my girlfriend now. My _lover_."

Three men suddenly launched at him, three wands fell to the floor forgotten as each of them tried to kill Blaise with their own two hands. But they never made it there since a pale orange wall of light sprang to life round Blaise and upon reaching it they were thrown back forcefully.

The second they landed on the soft carpet they were back on their feet and scanned their surroundings, trying to locate the source of the spell. They didn't need to look far, though, for just beside Blaise Hermione was standing in a duelling pose, her wand out and ready.

"Hermione..." Harry spoke for the first time now, looking at her with apprehension.

"_Accio_ wands," she stated, and the wands that the Trio had dropped flew to her outstretched hand.

Blaise chuckled.

"See, she even has her wand," he said.

"Hermione," Harry spoke again in a low pleading tone.

"No," she said firmly, coldly. "My name is not Hermione."

"That's right," Blaise grinned. "She wanted a new name to go with her new life. Now she is called Astraea. Astraea Zabini, that is."

"Astraea, the Goddess of Justice," Draco remarked. "What are you playing at, Zabini?"

"Oh," the Slytherin said, "it's simply that I have always lusted for her, even back at school, and I found it rather unjust that it was you who always taunted her who got her in the end and not me. So I brought a little more justice into our cruel, cruel world. And now, she is mine. Aren't you, Astraea?"

"I'm yours," she concurred.

"Each night long," he purred.

"Each night long," she nodded.

"Mine."

"Yours."

"And now," Blaise smirked wickedly, "it's time to entertain our guests."

Hermione licked her bottom lip and winked at them.

"Not that way, gorgeous," Blaise chuckled. "I meant with the wand."

She simply shrugged and directed it at Draco, who happened to stand closest to them.

"Any special wishes?" she asked.

"Let's see," Blaise replied. "There are three people in our room. And there are three Unforgivable Curses. Matching perfectly, doesn't it? But who gets what, that's for you to decide, darling."

Hermione smiled, stood still for a moment and then moved her wand, so it now pointed at Ron.

"_Imperio_."

Ron turned around, walked to the nearest wall and started banging his head against it.

"Ron!" Harry shouted and ran to pull his friend away from the wall. "Fight it, fight the curse."

Hermione flicked her wand back to Draco.

"_Crucio_."

It wasn't the first time Draco had been hit with a Cruciatus, not even close to it, but it was the first time it was cast upon him by a person he loved more than anything else in the world. Despite being a general bastard, Lucius Malfoy had never tortured his own son this way, not that Draco had ever loved his father as much as he loved Hermione.

And somehow, this made a hell of a difference. In addition to the physical pain, he had to cope with a broken heart, with a feeling of betrayal, loss, despair. Somehow, life suddenly did not seem worth living, and he wished for sweet oblivion and numbness. And yet, there was another thought clear in his mind. _Do it, Hermione. Do whatever you want to me, as long as it makes you happy. _

She didn't lift the curse until he had cried out, not of pain but of despair. Because he felt he had lost her.

"Weak," she spat. "You are all weak. One can't fight a simple _Imperius_, other cries like a baby under _Cruciatus_. Weak and pathetic. Don't you know that only the strong have the right to live?"

"How true, honey. You never cry under a _Cruciatus_, do you?"

"I'm not weak!" she gave Blaise her answer.

"She's right, you know. She never cries under a _Cruciatus_. And she is strong enough to fight an _Imperius_. It's a proved fact."

"That's right," she stated proudly. "Last time we had Death Eaters over they all got one _Crucio_ and one _Imperio_ at me."

Harry, who had kept Ron away from the wall all this time, now let his friend go and with a howl of battle he dashed at Blaise.

Hermione blasted him away.

"I believe you have one more curse left," Blaise told her.

Without a moment's hesitation, she pointed her wand at Harry, lying on the floor and staring at her with wide eyes and a look of utter shock.

"Hermione.."

"It's Astraea. _Avada Kedav_--"

Draco, being released from the curse, reacted on instinct at the last second, and leapt at Hermione, knocking her down on the floor and landing on top of her. Almost at the same second, Ron finally overcame the _Imperius_ and practically flew at Blaise, who had now managed to draw his own wand. Harry, jumping to his feet, followed his red-haired friend.

Hermione made no sound as she landed on the floor, and despite the suddenness and force of the impact, she managed to hold on to her wand. Noticing that, Draco used his weight to keep her down and gripped both of her hands firmly in his before she succeeded in hexing him. For one moment he was able to stare deep into her eyes which now blazed with fury before she started trashing and kicking, trying to get herself free. He found it difficult to keep her down without hurting her, but he did his best. The kicks and blows he received brought no reaction out of him, though in spite of all his efforts he felt his grasp on her loosen, mostly because of being weakened by that _Cruciatus_.

Before she escaped him, though, she stopped her kicking and squirming, and turned her head to see how others were doing.

Blaise Zabini had his wand out and pointed when Ron come running towards him, and he managed to blast him away. But what he was not able to do, was to hurl another curse at the livid and quite mad-looking Harry who jumped straight into him, sending him backwards. They both crashed into the small table onto which Hermione had tossed their wands before. So even though Blaise did not let go of his, with a bit of luck on his side, Harry managed to grab one of those on the table, and punching Blaise into his face without giving him any time to react, he stepped off and disarmed him.

Now Blaise was starting to panic, as would anyone on the receiving end of Harry's Killer Gaze, especially without his wand. Blindly, he reached behind him, trying to find one of the two wands still there, but those had fallen to the floor and his hand found nothing but air. Harry attacked. Still gripping onto his wand, he used only his left hand and legs to punch, kick and hit his enemy into all the places it hurt the most. He fought back, but there were only a few things more awful than a royally pissed off Harry Potter. Soon he was nothing more than a bloody lump on the floor, but Harry still didn't back off. On the contrary, Ron, having restored from the blow, limped up there to help him.

Draco didn't notice when she had managed to get her right hand loose, but suddenly he was thrown away from her forcefully, and the next moment she was on her feet and cast the same spell upon Harry and Ron. He recovered first and stood at the same moment Blaise did, with the help of Hermione. The two men looked at each other, and even though being bruised and bloody and looking like hell, Blaise smirked at him.

"Sorry, babe," he turned to Hermione, snatching the wand from her fingers, and she let him have it. "We'll meet up later. I'm almost positive they won't kill you."

With a short sharp laugh, he Disapparated.

Hermione froze, staring first at the spot Blaise had occupied a moment before, then at her empty hand, before swirling around to witness the scene in front of her. Draco stood some seven feet away from her, wandless. Harry and Ron were slowly moving and scrambling to their feet, and the former was armed. Seeing that, she turned back to the table which had once held three wands, but now had none. Looking at the floor, she noticed them there and scooped down to retrieve one.

"_Accio_ wands," cried Harry, acting fast enough, and as the two sticks made their way towards him, she wheeled to face them, looking wary but furious like a caged lion.

Minutes ticked by as the D-Trio watched the target of their too long search, and she looked back at them, ready to take action should one of them make any move.

Ron, known for snapping first and ending long, uncomfortable silences, lived up to his reputation, and opened his mouth to say something, but Harry held up his hand, silencing him, and slowly made his way to Hermione, who had remained motionless and was eyeing him with fiery intensity.

"Hermione," Harry whispered gently, placing his arm around her shoulders. "Everything will be all right now. You are safe. This ordeal is over now."

She pushed his arm away roughly.

"My name is Astraea. I'm not who you think I am."

"Perhaps she isn't," Ron suggested. "She might be using Polyjuice."

"But then how would she know..."

"They could have looked into her memories. Or fed her Veritaserum," Ron explained, quite confident about his theory. "I mean, look at her! She can't be Hermione. She says so herself."

Harry noticed the pleading tone is Ron's voice and for a moment wondered why he so intently wanted to believe it wasn't Hermione. After all, the girl was safely with them and were she an imposter, the real Hermione would still yet to be found and saved. Or worse – dead. But then he remembered what she had done to him, to all of them, and realized how painful it was to think what that bastard had done to her to make her who she was right now.

"If I were, I would at least make myself look like her, and probably act like her as well – if my plans were to imbue into your precious Order and betray it to the Dark Lord. Wouldn't that be much more logical?" she spoke, her tone amused.

"There's one way to make sure who she is," said Draco, casting an expectant look at Harry.

"What?" he didn't even have the decency to look embarrassed. "I don't have it."

"You didn't take a vial with you? Isn't it your task to carry one?"

"It's not my fault! We have used up the supply we had been given by the Order, and yours has ran out, too."

"Why did you never told me this before, Potter? It takes a month to brew it!"

"Well, I didn't notice it was all gone until it was all gone!"

"You do know that I always keep a vial in my laundry drawer, don't you?" Hermione casually joined the conversation.

"I..." Draco started, then stopped, and thought that statement through. "She is right. Hermione does keep one vial in our bedroom. I'm not sure why though."

"So I'll have it handy should I ever get the need to drug you, silly," she gave a fake giggle. "No, it's for emergency situations, when our usual supply has ran out and a new batch is not yet ready. I always think everything through very carefully. I mean, I even did that before."

"Let's get her to the apartment then and use it on her!" Ron urged.

"Yes," Harry nodded, although he was already pretty sure it was Hermione, and turned to the door through which they had come in, only to realize that it wasn't there.

"Ummm, where is the door?" he asked.

His companions looked around and saw what he had seen before. Draco moved to the stretch of wall where the doorway had once been and ran his wand over the place, trying out all revealing spells he could think of.

"That's not the way out," Hermione choose to speak after a while. "It is the way in, but not the way out."

"Where's the way out then?"

She shrugged, but the message was clear – figure it out yourself.

---

Somewhere during the next half-hour when they where roaming the apparently empty castle in the search of an exit, Harry managed to get Draco aside, leaving Hermione to Ron's care and hoping for the best.

"She might be different," he said as a most random comment, not looking at Malfoy but staring at the wall instead and prodding it with his wand. "But she is still Hermione. Whatever that bastard did to her..."

He stopped, hearing a sharp intake of breath and suddenly regretted saying anything at all. He didn't need doubt his attitude towards all this. He knew Malfoy loved her and would give his life for her. He shouldn't have said a thing.

He had just wanted to comfort him, not suspect him. But it was Malfoy, and he would always think the worse, at least from Harry, who was not his friend.

"I'm going to kill him for that, Potter. I promise. And no need to worry about the other thing. If I'm ready to die for her, a mere _Cruciatus_ will not change it. I'm more concerned about Weasley, though. He really wants to believe she isn't Hermione, and he might..."

"YOU BITCH!"

"... do something," Draco finished and turned around just in time to see Ron holding Hermione by her arms and shaking her violently.

"Hey Weasel, hands off my girlfriend," he yelled to him and rushed to the duo.

"She might be your girlfriend, but she is not Hermione!" Ron defended himself, but did let go of her.

"You do not know that."

"Yes, I do. Because _I_ know Hermione. She would never be like that, no matter what. She couldn't be brought down to... to _this_."

Ron simply nodded his head towards her.

"You'd be amazed what seven days of torture can do," Hermione smiled as if that memory had been a good one.

Ron flinched.

"It can do a lot," she continued, then turned and started her way through the countless rooms and hallways back to where they had come from.

"Where are you going?" Harry yelled, hurrying to follow her with everybody else.

"To get my book."

No one said anything else on their way. Once they got back to the initial room, she picked up her book, and then headed towards the far wall.

"It's not healthy…" she began, fishing up a golden chain from under her robes and removing a vial much like the one Malfoy had from it, uncorking it and smearing the red stuff (probably blood) onto a blank spot of wall.

"... to believe..."

Suddenly the same thing happened to the wall that had taken place at the entrance, except no voice spoke out from the dark oily substance.

Hermione pushed her sleeve away and touched her forearm to its surface. After a blinding explosion of white light, the door was back where it had been before.

"... what people tell you," she finished and opened the door.

But at that moment the D-Trio couldn't care less for any exit or escape, for they had just caught sight of something horrible beyond belief. From the creamy skin of Hermione's left arm, a black skull and snake were staring back at them.

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**REVIEW! Or else feel my wrath! :)**


	13. Chapter 13: Astraea Zabini

**Author's note:** First something you all want to know: **_Why is Hermione evil?_**

Because I like writing an evil Hermione. Not an acceptable reason? Ok, then I would suggest that you recall/re-read _Chapter 9_ because it's all there, even if you might have to read between the lines. About _Chapter 9_, I think it's one of the most important chapters so far because the whole point of the story, the whole idea behind it, gets kind of revealed there. Of course, it gets a bit revealed in the story's title, as well. ;) There will be a longer explanation in the last chapter, I think, but that's still months away.

_**Now, about this chapter, **_I had the second half of it written for quite a long time. And it's not really that important for you to know, but for some reason it seemed worth mentioning. Hmm...

**THANK YOU to all who have read or reviewed. _Strawberries and lollipops to _**_WannaBArtist, forkslover1, BA de Danone, Dark-Illusion1, and Genetic Island. :)_

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**Disclaimer: **If Hermione had an evil twin, she would belong to me. However, Hermione, Draco, Harry, Ron, Blaise, and Voldemort, as they are, don't. And neither does anything else from _Harry Potter_.

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**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 13: Astraea Zabini**_  
_In which D-Trio takes Hermione back home, the last vial of Veritaserum gets used, Ron flips, and Blaise isn't very popular._

They were all staring at it with wide eyes. Even Ron, who had seemed so sure that the girl with the Dark Mark standing in front of them was not Hermione, was now shocked to the bones, capable of staring only, his jaw dropped.

She noticed their glares and the horror in their eyes, and could read it perfectly clear. With a smirk she raised her arm, holding it up for the show, exhibiting the Mark it bore, her expression slowly turning into one of pride and wile.

Draco did not know and could not imagine what his companions were feeling, but he had to prepare himself for the worst. This would probably convince Weasley even further that she was not Hermione. And Potter, who, judging by his words, thought otherwise, might start to doubt.

Draco did not doubt. From the moment he entered the room and laid his eyes upon her, he had known she was Hermione. He couldn't explain why, or how, but he was dead certain about it, not having this feeling only in his heart, but in his mind and soul as well.

It could have been because of the Curse, he did not know. And he didn't really care. Because she was Hermione Granger and she bore the Dark Mark. If Voldemort had branded a Muggleborn with his Mark, then it was to use her in some of his most wicked plans and later dispose of her. Whether he wanted information from her, or help in luring Potter into a trap, or both, would he found out she had been uncovered, the Dark Lord would immediately send out his best assassins to take care of this. He could not afford another spy in his ranks, nor the other side learning about his schemes through her. So in this situation, with Blaise running to deliver the message, Voldemort's number one priority would be to kill Hermione, even if she really was on his side.

And if the Order found her guilty of betrayal and Death Eater action, they would be none too mild on her. At least, not Moody. And as he was the Head of the Order, she would have major trouble escaping his clutches. Especially if Weasley and Potter turned against her. So it might just happen that he would have to fight against almost everyone to protect her.

If that's what he should do, then that's what he would do. Fight against the whole world if needed. Take her away to some desolate place and keep her there safe, till the end of the war, or should it prove necessary – forever.

Surprisingly, or not so surprisingly, Harry's train of thought was heading in the same direction. He, too, worried what the Order would do should they found out about Hermione's secret. And the way she had been behaving, it was not too incredible that upon meeting with the Order, she would simply push off her sleeve and show the Mark to everyone present. And that could not happen. So they couldn't take her to the Headquarters.

But they had better leave this place before Blaise managed to summon back-up. And go… home.

"Alright, time to Apparate," Harry announced.

"We can't," Ron argued. "It had the Anti-Apparation charm."

"But not Anti-Disapparation charm, it seems, as Blaise did Disapparate."

"True," Ron agreed, and turned to Hermione as if to ask advice, only realizing a moment later what he was doing, and quickly spun around again.

"Nifty, isn't it?" she said when no one was admiring her Mark anymore. "Looks as good as real."

"Well, of course…" Ron started angrily, but Draco swiftly cut him through.

"What do you mean, it _looks_ real?"

"Just like I said," Hermione smiled. "It looks real. Even though it isn't." She took a moment to examine their shocked faces, then continued.

"Blaise cast this. And as he is not Lord Voldemort, this is not a real Dark Mark. It only stays on for a few days. And it won't burn and he can't summon me with it. But it looks real, and can fool the doorway perfectly, so that I can go for walks on my own, and come and go as I please."

"So you are not a Death Eater?" Harry asked weakly, afraid to believe something that felt too good to be true.

"I'm a Mudblood," she replied. "I have to carry a vial of blood, pure blood, with me if I wish to be able to move freely around here. If I had the stupidity and recklessness to appear before Lord Voldemort, he would kill me on spot. Besides, I belong to no one."

While the rest of her speech was spoken in silent wistfulness, during the last sentence her voice rose, becoming strong and proud.

"Not even Blaise?" Draco asked, even though it hurt him to speak those words.

"No one."

---

"Second drawer on the left," she directed them. They had managed to Disapparate out of the castle without any trouble and were now back at the apartment, specifically in the bedroom looking for the last bottle of Veritaserum.

Hermione had been less aggressive and more co-operative on their way, and Ron, despite his suspicion, had ceased to give her evil glares every other moment.

Lifting the vial with the transparent liquid, Draco uncorked it and gave it to Harry, who in his turn moved closer to Hermione. She grabbed it from him and raised it to her mouth, taking a large gulp of it before anyone could react to this rashness.

Harry and Draco exchanged a meaningful glance before moving on to their interrogation.

"What is your name?"

"Astraea Zabini."

"Do you know Hermione Granger?"

"Yes."

"How do you know her?"

"I was her."

Ron took a sharp intake of breath. He couldn't argue against Veritaserum so easily. But he didn't give up just yet.

"Did you pretend to be Hermione Granger?" he asked.

"No. I was Hermione Granger."

"Why aren't you her anymore?"

"Because she was weak. And only the strong have a right to live."

"Why do you think she was weak?" came from Draco.

"She was. She was ready to die for others. She was Cursed."

"Cursed?" Ron frowned.

"The Curse of the Weak," Hermione replied.

"Again this Curse of the Weak!" Ron shouted angrily. "Would someone please explain to me what this Curse of the Weak is!"

"It's a magical bond," she started. "Between two people in love. The bond is making them both share each other's pain, and sometimes other stronger feelings as well. It is always a two way thing, always two people get the Curse. But it is possible to block it with spells. Not sever it, never sever it, but block for the time being. And if one person blocks it, the other won't reach his or her feelings."

"Did you block the Curse?" Draco asked.

"Hermione did. I don't need to. I escaped it."

"But you said you can never sever it?" Ron got confused.

"Not as long as you keep loving. But once those silly feelings go away, you are able to be free once again. And once it breaks, it breaks both ways. It is always a two way thing."

"So you are saying you don't love Malfoy any more?" Ron asked, the hopeful note perceivable in his tone.

"Hermione loved him. I never did."

"You love Blaise now?" asked Harry, knowing Malfoy would never be able to form this question.

"No. Love makes people weak. Only the strong have the right to live."

"But you share the last name. Are you married to him?" Harry explored, noticing Malfoy almost flinch.

"No. I needed a new last name. And he wanted to own me."

Draco remembered all the ways Blaise had claimed her his, and suddenly he was unable to look at her, much less talk. So it was Harry, and occasionally Ron, who did most of the interrogation.

"Does he own you?"

"I belong to no one."

"But you are his girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"He gave me a choice – being his girlfriend or death. I chose life."

Harry swallowed, for a moment wondering why anyone else, or himself for that matter, hadn't rushed out of the room already in order to find and kill Zabini.

And yet, part of him was one hundred percent sure that in face of such a proposal, Hermione Granger would have picked death. It would have been silly of course, but she was proud and stubborn and it would have been such a Hermione-ish thing to rather die than betray her principals. And it wasn't simply Harry's belief that she would act like that, no, they had been in such fatal situations before and then she had done exactly that. Looked death proud in the eye.

But then she would have been dead, and they couldn't have saved her anymore. So what if it was not like her, or not what he would have expected of her. She had done the right thing after all. She had survived. She had gone through hell letting awful things happen to her, but she had hung on, and she had waited until they came to rescue.

It had been the right choice. She was alive. And to think about all that she had gone through, what that bastard had done to her, no wonder she acted the way she did.

"Did you tell Zabini anything about the Order, or Harry?" Ron inquired.

"A couple of things."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him about the way the Order works, who does what, and who commands. And I told him about Potter's weaknesses, and stories about the things we did in school."

"That's it?" Ron demanded.

"What are my weaknesses?" Harry wanted to know.

"He wasn't too interested in my past. And Potter cares too much for his friends."

"Did he tell any of this to Voldemort?"

"I don't know. Probably not. He didn't really tell Dark Lord about me. Feared he would kill us both."

"You mean," Harry asked in surprise, "that he didn't report you or anything you said to Voldemort?"

"It wasn't about that," she shrugged. "It was his personal revenge."

"At whom, and why?"

"Malfoy for getting everything he ever wanted."

"So it was all your fault!" Ron cried out triumphantly. "You are the reason Zabini kidnapped Hermione, and you are to blame for every horrible thing he ever did to her!"

"In a way, yes," Astraea smiled. "Ironic, isn't it? She was not taken and tortured for being friends with Potter but solely for being close to you. Though, to tell you the truth, it might be the only thing that kept her alive. Without Blaise's personal vendetta, nothing might have kept him for showing his find to the Dark Lord and getting praise for it."

Harry wondered why she was comforting him this way, as before she liked to see them suffer, but then he remembered about the Truth Potion.

"She's right, Ron," Harry tried to reason with his friend. "She can't lie right now. Zabini's vengeance might very well have been the only thing that kept her alive."

Ron found little consolation in that, but refrained from doing anything rash, like hexing Malfoy on spot, however much he would have liked to do it.

"Any more questions?" Harry looked around the room, from Ron who was pointedly looking away from Malfoy, to Malfoy who was pointedly looking away from everybody.

No one seemed anxious to speak. Not wanting to lie to himself, Harry knew he had at least one more question he wanted to ask. But he was afraid he would not want to hear her answer. Still, he asked.

"Are you all right?"

"I am alive," she replied coolly.

"What did… what did… Blaise do to you?"

Two sharp intakes of breath told Harry he wasn't the only one fearing the answer.

"Nothing too bad. Keep him company, entertain his guests. Take care of domestic issues. Satisfy his needs and pretend to like him fuck me."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, pointedly looking away from both Ron and Malfoy.

"It wasn't too bad once I let it all go. Once I abandoned Hermione and became Astraea."

"You mentioned something about _Imperius_ and _Cruciatus_?" he asked weakly, wondering if things could go any worse and berating himself for thinking so.

"That was just part of the training."

"What training?"

Astraea smirked.

"Whatever I might say about Hermione, there's one thing I have to hand to her. The girl did not agree on his terms, only on her own three conditions."

"Which were?"

"One: Not to use her to help Voldemort kill Harry. Two: Let her block the Curse of Weak immediately. And Three: Teach her how to survive. Blaise agreed, and he kept his word."

"Only the strong have a right to live…" Draco mumbled to himself, quoting what she had said three times already.

Astraea heard him.

"Slytherin's Codex of Survival," she smirked. "I thought you might remember their motto."

"That was your maxim?" Ron inquired, a bit too surprised for someone who hated Slytherins with such fervour.

"Among other things…"

"Among other things indeed," she nodded. "Can't really say I'm for that whole Pureblood thing. It would be quite a paradox if I were. Then again, Voldemort is a Half-Blood himself."

She gave a cackle of laugh.

"But no, I'm not for that. I'm simply a girl trying to survive. And as Rule #2 states, be always on the side of the winners."

---

They asked her no more questions that day. Instead after a long uncomfortable silence, Harry finally managed to signal Ron and Draco to follow him into the living-room, leaving Hermione behind.

Once they were alone, Harry repeated what he had said to Malfoy back at the castle.

"She is still Hermione."

And Ron made one final attempt to deny it.

"She is cruel, vindictive, and malicious," he shook his head. "She can't be Hermione."

"You heard her," Harry argued calmly. "Veritaserum doesn't cheat."

"Well, then, perhaps Hermione is not the person we thought she was!"

Harry noticed Draco stiffen, and suddenly realized that while Ron might lose it and hex Malfoy any minute now, it could very well happen the other way around. He knew Ron still had a thing for Hermione, but she was Malfoy's girlfriend, and to hear the things he was forced to hear today, would drive anyone crazy. Harry shuddered to think what he would feel should it happen to the person he loved most. It was almost impossible to bear it being done to his best friend, but the love of one's life…

"I thought I knew Hermione," Ron suddenly cried out, making Harry start. "But that was before she went and slept with two Slytherins!"

Having just realized the rather high probability of Malfoy slamming Ron against the wall and hexing him to oblivion, Harry was at the moment ready to bet anything that he would do it now. And he wouldn't blame him – Ron had gone too far this time.

And indeed Malfoy rose like a wrath of demons but before he managed to prove Harry right, another voice carried into the room.

"You're wrong," she said from the threshold, leaning aristocratically against the doorframe and smiling wickedly at them. Her hair was down and smooth, the colour of darkness, and her robes were blood red matching her long painted fingernails and the ruby of the ring they only now noticed she had.

"Hermione…"

"It's Astraea," she corrected them coldly. "And you're wrong. Not two Slytherins. Four." And she raised her hand holding up four fingers.

"Blaise had some friends over one day. Told me to entertain them. So I did," she explained crisply, her eyes and face showing no emotion or feelings. She had moved into the room now, and slid her fingers over the edge of a shelf.

"Dirty. This whole place is dirty. And small. I can't understand how anyone can live here – it's not even good for a doghouse. Disgusting. But what else can you expect from common trash."

It was a shocked and evil silence which overtook the room now, as three of its occupants were too appalled to say anything, and the fourth continued to smirk and look around with revealed contempt.

Unsurprisingly it was Ron who reacted first, but Harry would have never thought him capable of doing what he did.

In a heartbeat he had crossed the room and slammed Hermione against the wall full-force so that a loud crack was heard as her head collided with the wall.

"You're not Hermione!" he yelled at her. "Who are you and what have you done with her!"

One of his hands was holding her by the neck while the other had reached for his wand and had it pressed painfully into her cheek.

Harry took no time to react, rushing towards them and trying to pull Ron away from her with all his might. But as hard as he might try, Ron refused to move, nor did he let Hermione go. Instead he only tightened his grip on her neck, making it more and more difficult for her to breathe.

"Malfoy!" Harry shouted desperately.

But he didn't come, and when Harry turned his head to look for him he was standing at the same place he had been before, his posture frozen, still as stone, his eyes staring blankly at something unseen. With his unnaturally pale skin he looked more like a marble statue than an actual human-being. Except for a lone tear flowing across his face, although Harry could not be sure whether it was real or only a trick of light.

"Malfoy!" he tried again when his every attempt to save Hermione from Ron failed as badly as his first one. Deciding that desperate times need desperate measures, he tried one more time.

"DRACO!"

Harry had no chance to see whether this had awoken Malfoy from his stupor because at that moment a slender hand slipped into his pocket and drew out his wand – and the next thing they knew, Ron was thrown across the room and smashed against a class cupboard, shattering it into pieces and landing amongst them bloody and unconscious.

Harry, horrified beyond belief, snapped his head back to look at Hermione, wand raised and an evil glitter in her eyes. Instinctively he reached inside his robes, only to realize that it was _his_ wand she was using. She noticed him staring, and with a wicked smile directed the wand at him and uttered the curse.

"_Cruc-_"

"_Expelliarmus_!"

The wand left her hand and flew across the room where Malfoy caught it with ease and then swiftly threw it back to Harry.

He stretched out his arm to pick it out of the air but the next second something collided into him hard and shoved him down to the floor. Falling, he saw another arm reach for the wand, a hand with red nails like claws.

"_Accio_ wand!"

He heard a shriek, something almost inhuman and beastly as the wand escaped from her and flew away.

Using her rage for his own good, he leaped from the floor, ignoring the pain in his limbs, stole behind her and gently twisted her arms behind her back, holding them there firmly, careful not to hurt her too much. That turned out to be difficult though as she began kicking and screaming and wrenching to get herself free. He glanced over to Ron, worried, then back to Malfoy, trying to figure out what to do.

"Perhaps we should…" he began hesitantly, his voice barely audible over her yells and taunts.

"_Stupefy_."

The word was whispered but the spell hit its target and Hermione's body went limp. He caught her and picked her up, holding her close and staring into her placid face and closed eyes for a long moment.

"What have they done to you, precious. What have they done to you," he muttered softly under his breath before raising his glance again.

Malfoy had moved closer and now stood directly in front of him, his expression stiff. He stretched out his arms and Harry gently placed her unconscious body on them, arranging her head to rest against his shoulder, softly brushing a few stray strands of her now smooth and black hair away from her face.

"You are safe now, precious," he whispered, kissing her on the forehead.

---

Ron had got some rather deep cuts from the glass and a nasty bump on the head but was otherwise unharmed and insisted upon continuing their meeting when his wounds had been tended to.

Harry nodded and led him to the bedroom, noticing his disturbingly silent behaviour. He had expected him to scream or rant but perhaps the shock had been too great for him. Perhaps he had suddenly understood the whole truth in its wicked ugly glory.

And he had been right – this was not Hermione. It wasn't the sweet passionate Hermione the all knew and loved. It wasn't the famous bookworm, irritating know-it-all, not the Gryffindor Golden Girl.

It was Astraea, a Death Eater's mistress, cruel and cold and sadistic.

The only problem was that the kind Hermione and the wicked Astraea were one and the same person.

---

They were sitting on the bed, his arms circled her waist and his head was on her shoulder whereas hers rested against his chest. She was still unconscious and her eyes were closed.

But what shocked Harry perhaps even more than anything else was the fact that they were in the exact same pose as they had been on that fatal evening weeks ago when Harry had come here to deliver Moody's summons. The night it had all begun.

He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, bite back his tears and quench the terrible guilt eating away his insides. If only he hadn't… perhaps he would have managed to convince Moody somehow, or tell him he didn't find them, or at least accompanied her to Moody's office. Anything that would have kept this from happening.

Through his own haze of tears and pain, he all of a sudden realized that Malfoy's face was wet, that his shoulders were shaking and that he was crying, openly. He had seen him cry before, but then he had done it unaware of his presence. Now, Harry knew he knew he was there, but he still did nothing to hide or wipe away his tears, to hide his pain and sorrow. He did nothing of the kind and Harry was confirmed that the situation was ten times worse than his darkest fears.

He turned his face away from those two and found Ron standing beside him, staring with his eyes wide open and mouth agape.

It seemed that Ron had finally realized that Malfoy was not only a human but that he truly cared for Hermione.

Harry had no wish to tell him 'I told you so'.

Then his eyes narrowed and he closed his mouth. His glare turned murderous and he announced, coldly and calmly,

"I am going to kill Blaise Zabini."

* * *

**A/N: **

See, I'm not that evil. On second thought, however, I probably am. (devilish smirk)

**REVIEW !**


	14. Chapter 14: Matters of Love and Life

**A/N: **Heh, sorry for the long wait. I sort of forgot to post this... :P**  
**

I like Neville. I like writing about Neville. And I like this chapter. Especially the non-Hermione/Draco part of it.

_**Enjoy!**_**  
**

* * *

**Disclaimer: **I want Neville. I don't have Neville. Nor do I have anything/anyone else from the Harry Potter Books.

* * *

**Everything To Lose**

**_Chapter 14: Matters of Love and Life_**  
_In which Moody is not very happy (again), Neville is confused, Milla blames herself, Lilya has a secret, and Hermione has a conversation without cursing anyone._

"Why is that… that girl telling me I can't send her out on a mission?"

Neville gulped and tried not to shy away from the glance that had decided to glare a burning hole into his skull. It was not that he was afraid, although he was, but the look Moody was giving him seemed to freeze his spine and turn his blood to powder. He hadn't had the pleasure to witness their Head of Order in his full rage before since whether or not he risked his life to produce the necessary supply of herbs, Moody still considered his part in all this too small to be properly yelled at.

Now, however, he realized why people weren't too keen on displeasing the old Auror. Perhaps he was a good leader, and probably he was on their side as well, but he could give you a look that made you doubt all that. Trying with all his might not to look away, Neville thought he could almost see his future, and it wasn't pleasant. Being chained to the dungeon's wall seemed like a walk in the park on a sunny afternoon compared to what was there waiting for him.

But he had promised. He had known full well he didn't have the authority to promise something like that, yet he had still done it. Perhaps he didn't know how terrible Moody could be when angry, but he liked to think that even if he had known it, he would have still made that promise.

He recalled a girl in mauve robes holding a bouquet of yellow tulips and smiling at him.

"Because I promised her that," he spoke, loud and clear. At least he hoped it was loud and clear even though he had his doubts. The look Moody gave him next told Neville that he probably wouldn't live as long as to receive his worse-than-hell punishment.

Black curls. Mauve robes. Yellow tulips.

"She can still be useful without fighting," he tried to reason. "She can help with preparation, or me with my herbs, or… heal… or… do something else."

Moody was not very happy. Then again, he never was.

---

"Neville!" two voices cried in unison as he stepped out of Moody's office. He flinched and looked around, noticing two girls jumping up from the sofa they had previously occupied.

"How did it go?" Milla asked.

"What did he do to you?" Lilya inquired.

"Are you alright?"

"Did he punish you?"

"It's all my fault with the promise," Milla dropped her eyes.

"No, Milla," he stepped towards her. "It's not…"

"Of course it's all your fault!" Lilya snapped at the other, crossed the room over to Neville and threw her arms around his neck.

"Thank Nicolas you are all right," she whispered. "I was so worried. I heard what he did to that other girl, who is now dead because of it. I was afraid he might… harm you, too, some way."

Neville was shocked and horrified. Whatever Moody had said or done to him could not be compared to this. This was awkward. Lilya was his friend. But now she was hugging him almost too tight and whispering things to him and pressing herself against him in a way she had certainly never done before.

And Milla, the girl who had given him strength to defy Moody, stood a few steps away from him, her head lowered and black hair curtaining her face, blaming herself for the promise she had forced him to make.

And Neville had no idea what to do next.

Fortunately, Lilya didn't try to suffocate him for too long. Perhaps having finally realized what she was doing, shy as she was, she quickly drew away and blushed, playing nervously with the hem of her shirt.

"I'm glad you're all right," she said after a moment. "I have to go back now – plants and potions are waiting."

She gave a short laugh, smiled at him and left, leaving Neville alone with Milla.

And Neville still had no idea what to do.

It was Milla, though, who spoke next.

"She's a nice girl," she said acidly. "She is lucky to have you."

"Well, we… what?"

"She likes you, doesn't she?" She slowly raised her head but didn't look at him. "It's pretty obvious. And you like her as well, don't you?"

"I… her… what?" Although he wasn't as stupid as some people still thought, he was acting very much like an idiot right now. He knew that. He just couldn't comprehend anything at the moment.

"You love Lilya," Milla stated coolly. There was no point dancing around the matter. After all, what was it to her? She didn't care, she really didn't care. Or she was in denial just like Draco had been for many years.

"She is my friend," Neville answered, still confused as hell. But that was true – Lilya was his friend. They talked together and they laughed together and they discussed plants and their uses in potions. He liked to be with her, he felt comfortable with her… but that's how friends were, right?

She didn't make his heart beat faster, or turn his palms sweaty, or… or something else people always said one does when in love. Neville didn't know. He had never been in love. There was, of course, the crush he had had on Hermione in his lower and middle years at Hogwarts, but that was long gone. Hermione was his friend. Had been. No, was.

And Milla was his friend, too. He found her beautiful, he wanted to hold her hand and give her thousands of yellow tulips, he wanted to make her feel better, to protect her, to promise her things and keep those promises no matter what, he wanted to comfort her, and laugh with her, and make her laugh, he wanted to see her smile, to stroke her shiny black hair, to hold her in his arms, to kiss her gently on the forehead… Yes, Milla was his friend. Right?

"Lilya is my friend," he concluded. "Just like you."

At that the girl sent him a piercing glance, one that almost seemed angry and offensive, but not quite.

"It's not your fault, Milla," he added, moving towards the girl, and slowly, carefully placing an arm around her shoulders, ready to step away should she react in negative. But she said nothing, and he drew her closer to him.

"Don't worry. I won't break my promise."

"It's not…" she started to say something, but broke off abruptly and stayed silent.

"Friends?" he asked a bit apprehensively a moment later.

She nodded, and he felt happier than he had felt for a long time.

---

Lilya had left the room in a hurry, and now broke into a run. She practically flew to the fireplace, and right into the person that had just flood in, knocking them both down to the floor.

It took her a moment to regain her bearings, and realize what had just happened, and then another to take a deep breath and struggle to her feet.

"I'm so sorry," she held out her hand to the person still sprawled out on the floor, who took it and let her help him up.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again, sending her victim a curious look and trying to recall his name. She had certainly seen him before, at the Order meetings and around the house, but they had never exchanged more than a couple of words.

Even now the lanky red-haired boy didn't seem in the mood to talk nor did he seem to really notice her. His gaze was unfocused, he was staring blankly over her head and she became to worry that perhaps the fall had hurt him somehow.

"Are you alright?" she asked, and to catch his attention, took his arm and shook it gently.

"Oh… what…" he woke from his thoughts.

"Are you alright?" she repeated her question.

"No," he shook his head, "I mean yes. I mean no. I mean… I don't know."

He slowly moved his eyes to look at her, and when the recognition hit him, he stepped away from her.

"I'm fine," he snapped, though rather doubtfully, and brushing past her hurried off along the corridor.

Lilya stood there staring after him and feeling even more confused than before. It seemed clear that whoever he had been, he didn't like her. She did feel a bit hurt, but that was not her main concern. Her main concern was Neville.

Neville was her friend. A good friend, but nothing more. From time to time she did get those funny little ideas that perhaps she should try to move things to the next level or something like that, but had never found the courage in herself to do that. Funny, she could risk her life for the Order of the Phoenix without a second's hesitation, but when it came to the matters of heart, she just wanted to run away and hide.

But today, just mere moments ago, when she had seen him exit the room, she had wanted nothing more in the whole wide world than run to him, throw her arms around him and stay that way forever. And then in his embrace, feeling and smelling him, she had suddenly found herself wanting more. And not only wanting, but almost ready to take action to get it. She had started to feel bold, reckless, and that's why she had escaped the room at top speed. Before she would do something she was bound to regret later on.

It was better not to push these things. Lilya knew Neville was awkward and shy with such matters, and she was ready to give him time. To wait until he comes to her.

With a dreamy grin and wonderful image of that day in her mind, Lilya stepped into the fireplace, and out of it, reaching her laboratory. Once there, she moved over to check her currently boiling potion, failing to see her unexpected visitor.

"I heard you joined the Order," a voice drawled out from the corner of the room.

Started, she wheeled around towards the voice, and eyed its owner suspiciously.

"Marcus," she gave him a nod.

"You should be careful. Dark Lord will hear of this sooner or later, and he is not going to like it," he warned her.

"Well," she huffed indignantly. "If he wanted me on his side, he should have asked before."

"And you would have joined us?"

"Perhaps."

"You still can, you know," Marcus offered. "We could use a spy in the Order."

"Another spy, you mean," she corrected.

"The more the merrier," he gave her a smile.

"I'll think about it," she ended the subject. "So, what do you bring me this time, and what do you ask in return?"

He fished a small vial out of his robes and held it up for show.

"Care for some Acromatula venom?"

Lilya actually gave a shriek of happiness, and grabbed the bottle from him.

"Where did you get it? I've tried to find some for so long, but they don't have it in Knockturn Alley anymore, and whenever I've actually seen it, it costs more than I can afford."

"I have my sources," he grinned. "But that's not all."

He showed her another vial of a bluish silvery substance, but this time her reaction was the complete opposite.

"No," she said darkly.

"You don't have a choice," he spoke with equal seriousness, placing the vial on the table.

"I'm not making that potion. Let him have Snape do it."

"He wants you to do it."

"I'm not touching that stuff," she repeated, inching slowly away from him.

"It's just blood," he tried to reason with her.

"It's not just blood. It's unicorn blood. That stuff is cursed."

"Only if you kill the unicorn."

"I'm not touching it. Tell your Dark Lord to order someone else to do it."

He glared at her for a moment, and she wondered whether he was going to curse her or not. In the end, he only heaved a sigh, picked up the vial and slipped it back into his robes.

"Very well, Lilya."

He looked at her again, but now his gaze was not sharp or menacing. In fact, it was actually even soft and concerned.

"I know, Marcus," she answered to his wordless warning. "Those who play with the snakes must be prepared to be bitten."

His expression softened even more, and now it was a bit sad, as well.

"The usual then?" she asked a few moments later, turning to her Potions' cupboard and taking a few bottles from there.

"The usual," he nodded.

---

"So, what did the old madman say to you?" Millicent inquired as they had taken a seat by the kitchen table. Even though she was not going to admit it, sitting just behind Moody's door discussing these things seemed a bit too creepy. Not only might that lunatic be eavesdropping on them, but she had a secret fear he might burst out of his office any second and curse Neville with something horrible.

Yes, the idea was pretty ridiculous, but one of the first things Milla had learned about her new 'leader' was him being totally and completely out of wits. Much like Dark Lord's doll Bellatrix. The more she thought about it, the more suitable she found these two mad people being for each other. First, they were both veterans of war, having fought in the last one as well. Second, they were both scarred for life – Moody with all the visible wounds and wooden leg and magical eye; Bellatrix with her long stay in Azkaban. And last but not least, not to forget that they were both insane. Yes, a perfect couple those two would be, Milla thought. So what if they're fighting on different sides with passion? That only shows they still have some kind of passion, which comes rather handy in relationships.

Even now she got a weird mental image of those two holding hands and whispering sweet nonsense to each other, and she couldn't help from snorting out aloud.

"What?" Neville asked, surprised.

"Nothing," she waved the matter away. "Just thinking about old mad Bella."

His face fell, and she berated herself for being so tactless. She was fully aware of his past, having heard the story from both him and Bellatrix, who loved to boast with this. Millicent simply found it disgusting.

But it was still strange, being here in the Order of Phoenix, fighting on the side of light, in the memory of Dumbledore. She tried to keep her mind open and if not befriend then at least be social and civil with all the new people around her. She joined in their discussions, she spoke her opinion of things, she laughed at their jokes if they were funny, and sneered if they were simply ridiculous. But she couldn't help remembering and mentioning her friends from time to time, in the casual conversations, either to tell a funny story that happened to them, or simply speak their name. And then be the recipient of dozens suspicious and slightly murderous glances from those around her.

Like the other day when she and a couple of others had discussed the topic as innocent as names for pets. One of the boys had got himself a Salamander and had trouble of finding it a suitable name. And all that Milla had done was to mention that Goyle had a tortoise by the name of Caramel, his favourite candy, when everybody had suddenly shut up and recalled that they had something urgent to do some place else.

It wasn't easy to adjust to these new circumstances, to the fact that people she had considered and still considered her friends, were sworn enemies from everybody else's point of view.

"Sometimes I wish I had been sorted into Hufflepuff," Milla sighed.

"Hufflepuff?" Neville asked in astonishment. That seemed one of the last things he had expected her to say, but it did its job to distract his mind from the previous thoughts about his parents and Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Things would have been easier then," she explained with a crooked smile.

"But why Hufflepuff? Why not Ravenclaw, or Gryffindor?"

"I'm not smart enough for Ravenclaw," she said. "And I'm still enough Slytherin to have some dislike towards Gryffindor. No offence."

"None taken," he gave her a reassuring smile.

"So what did Moody say to you?" Milla repeated her earlier question.

But Neville didn't get the chance to answer because the door to the kitchen creaked open and in marched a miserable Ron. There was nothing new to that since he never looked happy these days, and everyone knew why.

"Hello, Ron," Neville greeted him, but he seemed not to notice, instead looking around the room as if wondering how he had got there. At last his eyes moved to Millicent and a portion of their blankness disappeared.

"Malfoy wants to see you," he delivered the message in a flat, emotionless tone.

"What about?" the girl inquired.

"He needs to talk to you."

"Why can't he come here then?" she asked lightly. It was not an accusation, or refusal, or anything of the kind, except simple curiosity, but Ron took it the wrong way.

"Fine," he barked, rushing out of the room. "Don't come if you don't want to. I never wished you there in the first place."

Milla stared at the empty doorway, then turned her attention back to Neville.

"I guess I should go and see what my little dragon wants," she excused herself with a smile and a quick hug.

---

"Draco!" Millicent called, climbing out of the fireplace, and taking in the empty living-room. No answer came, so she simply moved towards the bedroom door, intent of finding her friend. But she never made that far as a second later the said door opened and revealed once again a worse than ever looking Weasley, and a slightly better, but also concerned, Potter.

They stopped upon noticing her, and Weasley managed to give her an extra evil glare before stomping away gloomily.

"What is it?" she asked, worriedly, afraid something might have happened to Draco.

"You better go and see," Potter pointed to the bedroom door, and wordlessly followed his red-haired friend.

Without further ado and trying to figure out their strange behaviour, Millicent entered the bedroom.

And actually let out a loud and quite un-Slytherin gasp of surprise.

Draco was lying on the bed, his eyes open and tears flowing down his face, but it was not him that made Milla gasp, but the seemingly asleep girl in his arms, whose hair and cheeks he was stroking calmly.

Millicent had not seen Hermione for a couple of years, and she found her quite different from what she had been like at school, but she was able to put the two and two together and realize that the girl couldn't be anyone else than Hermione Granger.

And she was shocked indeed. They had actually found her. Like most of the Order, Milla had been quite certain that Granger was dead, but for the sake of Draco she had pretended otherwise and tried to seem optimistic. But to think that they had actually managed to find her, and bring her back – that was nothing short of a miracle.

"You found her," she said softly, not to wake the sleeping girl, but to get Draco's attention.

Yet the moment he looked her in the eye, the slow smile that had formed on her face died away instantaneously. Her gaze moved to the girl, then back to Draco, and to Hermione again.

She was sleeping. That is, she seemed to be sleeping. But what if… what if…

"She is not dead," Draco said, recognizing her expression of horror for what it was.

"But… then…"

"She is not the same. She has changed."

"Changed how?" Millicent questioned with growing fear and worry.

"She's different. She's…" Draco paused, looking for the right words.

"Do you know Salazar Slytherin's Rules of Survival?" he asked instead.

"Of course I do," she gave a little smile. "They were engraved in the wall of our common-room."

"Are you a follower?"

"If I were, I wouldn't be here right now," she said calmly, taking no offence.

"She is."

"What?" Millicent exclaimed.

"He probably taught them to her. And they helped her survive this long. And I'm forever grateful for that. But… she doesn't let go. She still keeps following those rules."

"You mean she doesn't trust you?"

"I mean she would have killed Potter had I not intervened. She put Weasley under an Imperius. And…"

He turned away, and kissed Hermione's cheek gently, speaking no more.

"Cruciatus?" she asked in whisper, her eyes wide.

He didn't answer, but his silence was enough for her.

"Are you sure…"

"Am I sure I want to be with her?" he spoke harshly. "Yes, Millicent, I'm sure. She can cast a thousand Crucio's upon me, if it makes her feel better. I will stay with her for the rest of my life, no matter what."

"I wasn't going to ask that," Milla lied, and suddenly realized she was crying.

"Is she asleep?" she asked quickly, trying to change the subject before she broke down herself. It was painful to see Draco like this.

"She's unconscious," he sighed. "Weasley went mad and tried to strangle her, she took Potter's wand and blasted him into a glass cupboard, and then I Stupefied her."

So that's why Weasley looked worse than shit, Milla chuckled mentally. She didn't really like the red-hair.

"You think… perhaps I should…"

Draco gave her a questioning look.

"Damn, I'm sounding like a lovesick Hufflepuff," she swore, thinking back to her Hufflepuff-comment to Neville. "Perhaps I could talk to her?"

"You think it might help?" he asked doubtfully.

"Maybe. At least I'll understand how bad the situation is."

"It's worth a try," Draco sighed again, stood up from the bed, and drew his wand.

"Ennervate."

The moment her eyes flew open, she had already jumped to her feet and reached for her wand, which wasn't there, of course. Her confusion and apprehension lasted only for a second, though, and then she was back to the cold and indifferent stance, her gaze moving from Draco to Millicent.

To Millicent, who suddenly realized how hard her glance was to bear.

"Hello, Hermione," she spoke to her, voice level and still looking the girl straight in the eye. "You might not remember me, but I'm Millicent Bulstrode. We went to Hogwarts together. It's nice to meet you again."

Hermione appraised her coolly.

"I remember you very well," she said at last.

"Oh," Milla gave a nervous laugh, not knowing what about that girl made her so restless. "We did have a rather stormy beginning. But I hope you can forgive me, and we can start anew."

"Never forgive, never forget," she spoke reverently. "But there is nothing for you to be sorry about. You just did what you had to, what you needed to survive. Only the strong have a right to live."

Millicent flinched. That sentence brought back memories. Memories of the happier times when they were all friends and didn't try to kill one another.

"Blaise always said that…" she muttered nostalgically.

"He still does," Hermione smirked.

"Yes, I suppose he does," Milla began, when the girl's sentence finally registered in her brain. She glanced to Draco, whose expression had turned murderous.

"You were with Blaise?" she asked incredulously.

Hermione nodded.

"How is he doing?" The question had slipped from her mouth before she managed to stop herself.

"For all I know, he's fine," she answered. "He managed to get away when they came after me. I don't know where he is now."

"Did he… did he hurt you?" Stupid, stupid question.

The look Hermione gave her indicated she thought it a stupid question as well. But she still answered.

"Not much. He sometimes took me rough, though. And in the training, of course, but that doesn't count. But if you're asking whether he tortured me, then no, that was left for Pansy."

"Pansy?" both Draco and Millicent asked sharply.

"Oh yes, didn't I tell you about Pansy?" she grinned with malicious pleasure. "She was with Blaise when he took me in. He gave her a week to do with me what she wanted, but only with spells, no knives. She didn't like it. She wanted to carve me. So in the end Blaise gave in."

Milla gasped.

"Poor, poor Pansy," Hermione cooed. "Another man who chose me over her. I lived like a queen, while she ended up in the bottom of the river. That's 1:0 for me."

"Pansy is dead?" Millicent asked in horror.

"Blaise killed her. He never really liked her. Neither did I."

"Pansy is dead," Millicent repeated, although more to herself. Pansy and Blaise. They had been her friends. They had hanged around together in Hogwarts, talked and laughed together. Sure, Pansy has been a bit jealous when it came to Draco, and Blaise sometimes tended to get a little cruel, but to do things they had done now? Kidnap one of their former school-mates and torture her?

It must have been the war. Nothing else could make them so ruthless. Because they hadn't been bad people. Milla refused to believe that they had been the same at school. No, it was the war. The war had ruined them.

And the cause of the war – Voldemort. She would kick his sorry ass for that. For changing her friends into monsters.

But first there was Hermione, another victim of the war. Another one whose life Voldemort had ruined. But perhaps it was not too late yet.

"What did he tell you about those rules of survival?" she asked.

"He told me they were written by Salazar Slytherin."

"Did he also tell you what they were for?"

"For surviving, I would guess," she quipped sarcastically.

"Yes, but when?"

"When?" she raised her brow in question.

"Did he tell you they were only to be used in emergencies? That they were not about a style of life, but a way to get out of dangerous situations?"

"Life is a dangerous situation. Especially now."

"Yes," Milla had to agree. "But there are still places where you can be safe, even these days. Here, for example."

"Perhaps. But I cannot sit in this apartment for the rest of my life. Not until the end of the war, either. And even these wards can be broken."

"There are people here who protect you. You are not alone, Hermione. You do not have to keep up that cruel act."

"Act?" she queried sharply. "This is no act. This is who I am. Not Hermione, not the Gryffindor Golden Girl anymore. No, she would have died. She would have chosen to die."

"Who are you then?" Millicent, who had not expected such turn of events, asked.

"I'm Astraea."

"Suitable name," Milla smirked.

"Indeed."

They stood there for some moments, looking at each other, and Milla didn't feel that uncomfortable anymore. Also, judging by the look in the other girl's eyes, she had found at least something in Millicent, and as long as she had her interest, she would be able to talk to her, and as long as she kept talking to her, there was a chance of being able to convince her about the real purpose of Salazar's rules. Really, Slytherins were not as evil as everyone else thought them to be.

"Are you not going to try to convince me about Slytherins only using those rules in times of need?" Astraea drawled out in a bored tone.

Millicent swallowed. She wanted to. She had to. But she had no means to convince her; she could not prove it to her. She didn't want to believe, and she would not believe. So she could not convince her. At least, not yet.

But Milla was a Slytherin, and she knew those rules by heart. 'Know your enemy' had been one of them. And as ironic as it might sound, those rules themselves could help her shatter Hermione's, that is, Astraea's, of course, belief in them. Ironic indeed.

Astraea did not consider Millicent her ally. And whoever was not your ally, was your enemy. Thus, she would take every opportunity to learn about her weaknesses.

And vice versa. Once Milla knew all about her weak spots, it would be easy, well, easier, to break her.

Draco was not going to like it. But he didn't have to know. Because sometimes the only way to save someone was to break them first.

That in mind, Millicent assumed her best evil smirk, and charged.

"Why should I convince you about something we both know is untrue?"

The necessary contempt was present in her voice, and for good measure, she managed one pretty decent sneer at the end of her sentence as well.

Draco was not going to like it.

* * *

**A/N:**

Anyone else thinking that Bella and Moody would be perfect together?

**REVIEW if you do, and REVIEW if you don't, and REVIEW if you're not sure... And definitely REVIEW if you think I'm crazy. ;)**


	15. Chapter 15: Life Goes On

**Disclaimer: **I disclaim _Harry Potter_.

---

**Everything To Lose **

_**Chapter 15: Life Goes On**  
In which Hermione is presented to the Order, Ron feels betrayed, Milla decides to act, and Lilya gets jealous._

"It's gone," Astraea said a bit sadly, examining her arm. To everybody's great relief, her Dark Mark had indeed grown fainter during the three days she had spent at the apartment, and now it had finally disappeared for good.

"Does this mean we are going to take her to the Order?" Ron questioned.

After his momentary loss of sanity, Ron had made a 180 degree turn in his thoughts, and accepted the wicked girl as Hermione. In fact, this had been mostly the reason behind his flip – his last attempt to deny something he was starting to believe despite all his tries not to.

This, though, didn't mean that he was able to escape the full-force lecture from Harry and Malfoy. His friend attacked him with reason, insisted that although she didn't act like it, she was still Hermione, told him to bear in mind all the horrible things she had gone through, and said that if they ever wanted their precious bookworm back, violence was not the way to achieve that. Draco simply promised to kill Ron should he hurt his girlfriend ever again.

But he kept himself back after that incident, and surprisingly, so did Hermione. She seldom spoke and usually ignored everybody else, going round the apartment minding her own business, which mostly consisted of reading, looking through her things, or just staring out of the window and thinking.

She didn't withhold all her scathing and hurtful remarks, but compared to the day they had found her, it was hard not to call her behaviour submissive. Still, she was on high alert at all times, and if one was observant enough, they could see she was hardly as indifferent as she tried to appear. In fact, Draco was ready to bet almost anything that she was plotting something.

"How do you think they are going to react?" Harry ventured.

"They would be happy, of course, to have her back," Ron said at once without thinking.

"But what about her condition?"

_Damn, _Ron thought. It wasn't that he had forgotten about it since it was nearly impossible with a so different Hermione in the same room with him. She wasn't yelling, or cursing, or throwing him to glass cupboards, and that was good, but she still behaved nothing like the girl he knew and loved.

The girl he loved.

If Ron had before noticed that Harry had started to take Malfoy's side more and more often, then now it was glaringly obvious he was actually concerned for the bastard. Actually concerned. And yet, Harry should have known that he loved her as well, and the situation was hurting him, too, and that he was really, really sorry for trying to strangle her. Harry should have known that he would never do anything to hurt her, not intentionally, that he loved her, and that it was painful for him to see her like that. But Harry, his best friend for seven years, seemed to think that Malfoy needed his support more.

Ron couldn't but feel a bit betrayed. It was Malfoy, after all. First Hermione, now Harry. That bastard was taking all his friends away.

But at the moment, Hermione was more important. And instead of confronting Harry about his treacherous behavior, Ron chose to spend time with Hermione. She usually ignored her, but of late she seemed to get more used to him, and his company, Ron couldn't help but notice with elation. She still hardly ever spoke to him, but she didn't get up and leave the room whenever he sat down by her side.

"Perhaps they could help her about it," he suggested, coming back to the present conversation.

Harry nodded thoughtfully.

"We should do it, shouldn't we?" Malfoy muttered in a while.

"We should," Harry concurred, and even Ron had to agree. "Just... don't leave her side."

"I did it once. I will never do it again."

---

"Is this good enough for you?" Astraea sneered, stepping out of the bedroom. They had told her to be presentable; clearly, they should have defined it a bit more.

She was wearing a black dress, one of the few dresses Hermione owned and seldom donned, but she had torn off its sleeves, at least a feet from the length of the shirt, and made its modest neckline anything but modest. A red scarf was tied around her waist, and her hair was up.

All in all, she looked nothing like Hermione.

"No?" she raised an eyebrow, taking in the look on their faces. "I'm positive Blaise would simply love this dress on me. Of course, he would even more love this dress off me…"

Draco tried his best not to flinch, unlike Potter and Weasley. As difficult as Hermione was to read, this time she showed off her contempt and malice quite openly. He could see her intent behind this remark, and it was solely to sting them.

"I don't think the dress would matter," Harry sighed, convinced that should they send her back to change she would choose something even more revealing and inappropriate, just to grate on their nerves. Despite her rather non-violent behaviour, she still had her wicked moods.

Harry was the first to Floo to Grimmauld Place, his task being to gather together the correct people and prepare them. Ron was to follow in ten minutes, and Hermione five more after that with Draco.

When the clock struck his turn, Ron sent Malfoy a hateful glace, gave Hermione a pleading look, and stepped into the flames.

---

The Order took it well. Everyone was happy and laughing and lining up to give her a hug. And if in their elation they did notice her different appearance, they decided not to comment upon it. After all, if a lost heroine comes home after weeks of being thought dead, the shortness of their dress is the last thing to worry about.

At the moment Mrs. Weasley was taking turns in fussing around Hermione, and crying on his husband's shoulder, Remus was conversing with Moody at the table, whose magical eye had been trained on Hermione from the second she had walked into the room, several other Weasleys were scattered around. Neville was currently in front of her, telling her how glad he was to have her back, stuttering a bit in his joy and excitement. Millicent stood in the far corner observing. Just like the three boys, she too knew that Hermione was a bomb that might go off any second now. So far, she had restrained herself, even smiled a little, and kept her insults to herself, but that attitude could be quick to change.

To those who knew Astraea, her behaviour was nothing but clever acting. She tried to make the impression of being what Hermione used to be, and she was rather good at it. Although, if people weren't so excited about her being back, they might have noticed the cold and distant look in her eyes, and the fakeness of her smile.

She played it safe, Draco thought. She knew that the Order consisted of capable witches and wizards, not to mention one rather paranoid but skilled Auror, and even with her wand, she held no chance against all of them. But now she was wandless, in a room full of people who wouldn't approve of Astraea, and curse her on sight. They were enemies, but they were more than that – they were danger.

The three boys would never curse or hurt her; these people would. So she had to pretend, act like Hermione if she wanted to leave this place unhurt.

She might have used the same tactics with them in that castle in Murmansk, but there had been no reason for it. That had been her battle ground, where she had felt if not safe then at least confident enough to drive the intruder back. This was why she had not acted back there – she thought Blaise would come out the winner, and she on the winning side.

Yet her over-confidence hadn't got her into trouble, not that time. Instead it had taken her to three people who wanted to protect her more than anything else, it had taken her to a safe haven. So perhaps that's why she had been so over-confident in the first place – had she run to them with open arms, and Blaise had won, he might have not been too kind on her.

Draco gave a mental shudder. He tried his best not to have these thoughts because they hurt and made him angry and irrational. She had told it all under the Veritaserum and for that reason, it was the truth. It broke his heart over and over again every time he thought what she had gone through. And in addition to the hurt, it made him livid. Oh, if only he could get his hands on Blaise, he would wring his neck and then beat him to a bloody lump; well, the other way around, actually.

Shaking those thoughts off and coming back to the current situation, Draco realized that the whole room had suddenly gone completely silent. At once he turned his eyes towards Hermione who was standing in the middle of the room as if nothing had happened, a barely noticeable smug look on her face. Everyone else was staring at her in horror, and Molly looked so white as if she was going to faint any second now. Draco berated himself for not listening; he would have asked someone but it didn't feel appropriate. Instead he caught Milla's gaze from across the room and frowned in question. His friend merely nodded her head towards Hermione, her expression guarded.

Quite suddenly, Molly let out a long wail, but other than that, no one reacted. Draco was about to do something himself, when Hermione broke the silence.

"Well, you asked," she stated calmly. "It's not wise to ask if you don't want to hear the answer."

It did no good, other than Molly giving a small whimper, and Arthur tightening his arm around her shoulders.

"Look at the bright side of this," Hermione tried again, starting to sound impatient. "So I was raped and tortured, but I'm still alive. I went through hell or worse, but I survived it, and it has made me stronger. And perhaps this will help me survive in the future, survive the war. It was a horrible experience, but it's over now – I'm here and I'm safe, and we have bigger things to worry about. Let's concentrate on the future, instead of the past, all right?"

Draco was gobsmacked. What she had said, and the way she had said it, reminded her of the old Hermione so much that for a moment he couldn't stop his hopes from getting up.

With another wail, Molly ran to Hermione and threw her arms around her again, crying and whispering gentle words to her, which seemed to comfort herself more than the girl in his arms. Everyone else took this as their cue to start moving. Moody stood up, patted Hermione on the back, and grunted it was good to have her with them again; then, without ordering her into his office to report, like Draco had expected, he simply limped away. Remus followed his lead, assured her that she could always count on him, and left the room, as well. Molly, Arthur, Neville, and a few other Weasleys, also Ron and Harry, gathered around Hermione.

Draco quietly stepped around them and joined Milla in her lonely corner. For a while none of them said anything, watching the group of people chatter merrily by the kitchen table.

"You know she is acting, don't you?" she spoke at last.

"Yes," he replied, knowing the change was too sudden and too good to be true.

"Even Moody seemed to have bought it," she added.

"You think we should tell them?" Draco questioned.

"I honestly don't know. If they know, they may be able to help us, help her somehow, also then they know to be wary around her. But on the other hand… well, they wouldn't treat her the same, would they? And perhaps what she needs right now is to be in a place surrounded with her friends, people who really care about her; perhaps this will help her lower her defenses."

"People who really care about her? There are none of those back in the apartment, I guess," he sounded hurt.

"Oh, I know you three care about her. And I do know you love her. But it's different. We know she is Astraea, whereas these people still consider her Hermione. If acting like a bitch had made her a bitch, perhaps acting like normal will make her back normal."

"I don't quite follow you, Milla," he frowned. "If these people only care about Hermione, but we care about her the way she is, why is she better being here?"

"Because right now she thinks in allies and enemies. Staying here will make her see that Hermione had many allies, certainly more than Astraea has. As more allies is more beneficial to her, and she always wants to be on the winning side, she might think it's better for her to come to us. And once she regards us as allies, she might let her guard down, if only a little. And when it happens, I'll be there to tear it down completely. You forget that I have spent my time with her lately, and I know the cracks in her mask of coldness and indifference."

"Are you sure, Milla?"

"Positive."

"I guess that answers our question whether to tell them about her condition or not."

---

When Hermione was getting ready for the meeting, the three boys had come to the conclusion not to tell the Order everything; they had settled on mentioning that she might act a bit odd, considering all the awful things that had happened to her. Again, Harry and Ron did not go into detail when explaining this, and Hermione's remark had been a terrible shock to everybody.

Still, as Milla said, they seemed to be buying her act, even Moody, and that meant she was good at it.

Which in turn brought on the suggestion (by Millicent, again) that Hermione should stay at Grimmauld Place for a while. Ron and the other Weasleys were avid supporters of this idea, whereas Draco couldn't realize why keeping him away from Hermione would do her any good. Well, he could understand why Weasley might think that, but the idea had come from his best friend, after all.

"I'm not trying to keep you away from her," she had explained to him.

"No? Well, it surely seems like that."

"I told you that spending more time with all the people who care about her might do her good. And I know you care for her, but I mean with a bunch of people. Back at the apartment it's only you, Harry and Ron; and if you leave to go on missions, she is left all alone. Here, there are a lot of people hanging around at all times, here there is always someone to keep her company, and if she wants to keep up her Hermione act, she can't simply ignore them. Which means she will be spending more time interacting with good people, and less with plotting on her own."

"Fine," Draco spat. "I see your point. But then I suppose I can come to stay here for a while as well."

"I don't think that's a good idea," she said slowly, knowing he wouldn't like it.

"And why the hell not?" Draco demanded.

"Because you love her."

Whatever explanation he had been expecting, this was not it. Also, he couldn't quite figure out why his love for her brought on his necessary parting from her.

"Because I don't think she needs that kind of relationship right now," Milla tried to explain further. "Because she can't go straight from hate to love. Right now she hates. Everything and everybody. But she has to learn to care, learn the concept of friendship first, and only then can she move on to love. And I know you can be her friend as well, but..."

"But what?" Draco narrowed his eyes.

"You won't like me saying this, but she might consider your interest in her the same as Blaise's interest in her."

"WHAT???" Draco exploded, just like she had expected him to.

"I know you love her, I know you would never hurt her, I know you would give your life for her," Milla said quickly, not giving him the chance to start yelling at her, which had been his certain intent, judging by the way he had inhaled a large gulp of air, and the angry fire burning in the depths of his silver eyes. "But she was your girlfriend. And then she was Blaise's girlfriend. And she was Blaise's girlfriend for many, many days, and she has made herself forget what it was to be a girlfriend to someone who really loves her. She only remembers how to be a girlfriend to someone who only wants to use her body and break her mind for his own pleasure. That's why she can't take your love right now... because the only kind of... erm... love she knows is the bad kind."

She stopped and drew a long breath, waiting for his reaction.

"When did you get this deep, Milla?" he asked her sadly.

"I told you I was learning to know her," the girl shrugged.

"If you say," he started, dropped his gaze, swallowed hard, and tried again. "If you say that this would help her, then I will do it. Only, Milla... keep an eye on her. I know Potter and Weasley... but I don't trust them like I trust you."

She smiled and nodded.

"I'll keep my eye on her," she promised.

---

And so it happened that Hermione moved back to Grimmauld Place, for the joy of everyone save Draco, who still visited her on daily bases. Days passed and nothing major happened, missions took place, plans were formed, people died, war went on, and Astraea kept up her act. She learned how to dress and behave more like Hermione, she learned what people expected of her, and gave them just that; she chatted with them, and laughed with them, and listened to them, and gave them advice. She bore their looks of sympathy, and pity, and care, however hard it was for her not to lash out at them.

But she had to keep cool, she had to hide her real feelings and her real thoughts towards all these people, who thought they knew who she was, but were dreadfully wrong.

Because she was still Astraea Zabini. And she was in need of a White Guardian. And she had chosen the best person for it.

---

"I was thinking," Millicent announced one evening, while she was sitting on living-room couch with Neville, comfortable in each other's presence.

"I'm so glad Hermione is back," Neville exclaimed.

Milla gave him a funny look that made him blush and berate himself for saying that. The truth was that the look she gave him just a second ago was so intense and sort of feral that it had made him nervous, and when he was nervous, he usually said stupid things.

"Actually," she continued, "That is what I was thinking about."

"It is?" he was surprised. Talking about Hermione seemed a topic safe enough, but then why was she still looking at him as if she wanted to swallow him whole?

"It's a miracle they found her," she said quietly.

"It is," Neville concurred. "And if miracles still happen, then hope is not completely lost yet."

"Yes, there is still hope. For us."

Neville gulped. No, this situation was anything but safe. By the looks of it, he was in a big, big trouble.

"Yes, the Order needs every bit of hope there is."

"I wasn't talking about the Order, I was talking about us," she clarified.

"You're my friend, Millicent," he said quickly, feeling himself blush and mentally cursing that.

"Just a friend?" she smirked seductively.

Was it just him, or had the temperature of the room risen a couple of hundred degrees? And the air, clearly, had found a better place to be. Telling himself to breathe, breathe, breathe, and relax, relax, relax, Neville closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, willing himself to be calm. Slowly, he exhaled, and opened his eyes, only to gasp and start at finding her face only a couple of inches away from his.

"I... I... I..." he stuttered, unable to put together any sentence, which wasn't too bad since he didn't really know what to say.

"Shut up," Milla ordered, and he complied, snapping his mouth close.

But then she kissed him, and he gasped again, giving her the opportunity to kiss him a lot more thoroughly, which she, of course, took.

After a few seconds, Neville's nervous as hell brain finally gave up, and escaping all those horrible-terrible thoughts, he was finally able to relax, and start kissing her back.

Later she rested her head in his lap as they both stared into the flames in the fireplace.

---

But what Neville did not know was that their little 'meeting' had not gone completely unnoticed by others. What he also didn't know what that the person who stumbled upon them in their heat of passion was harbouring some romantic feelings towards him as well. In addition to that, during their friendship he had never got the chance to realize that Lilya Doonlen was a rather jealous person.

* * *

**REVIEW !!!**


	16. Chapter 16: We Scheme

**Note: **Yes, I did take my sweet time, but at least the chapter is long, and things happen here.

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**Disclaimer:** Things you can recognize from the "Harry Potter" books belong to J. K. Rowling.

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**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 16: We Scheme**_  
_In which Astraea wants to go home, Ron gets the surprise of his lifetime, Harry is a bit suspicious, Draco sees something, Milla thinks too much, Neville speaks up, and Lilya has a plan._

Lilya was furious. First, she had been shocked. Then she had doubted either her vision or sanity. After making sure it was not an Illusion Charm, no matter how ridiculous it would have been for someone to cast that charm about Neville and Millicent kissing, she felt betrayed and heartbroken. She even cried a bit, although that was mostly because she needed her tears for a potion. But then, quite suddenly, anger came.

How dare she take him away from her!!? From her, who had spent months with him, discussing herbs and potions, or simply being there to listen. Their relationship had been developing, they had the strong base of friendship already there, and now it just needed a little more time to grow into something else. She hadn't wanted to push him, for his sake and hers, she wanted things to happen naturally. And they had been going along that road, she was certain of it. The way he had held her the other day outside Moody's office, that had been the real thing.

But now, some stupid Death Eater trash had decided to interfere. They had been together for only a couple of weeks, nothing serious could happen that quickly. The girl was probably just lusting for him, in need of someone to fulfill her needs, and Neville was her victim. She didn't care for him, and quite surely she didn't love him.

Not like Lilya did.

So now she had two options – let go and let that slut break his heart, or fight for what was rightfully hers.

It didn't take her long to make her choice.

---

Astraea dreamed in red and black. She always dreamed in red and black. Red light, red curses, black shadows, black figures… red blood, black wands… her dreams were a blur of these. Always black figures were sneaking about, black wands in their hands, sneaking in the black shadows, meeting other black figures, letting red curses fly, letting red blood flow, letting red light shine above them ominously.

No sounds, no steps, no cries – it all took place in total silence.

Red pain. Black abyss.

She never thought too much of these dreams, but somehow they still managed to crawl under her skin. And every time she woke up, she had this strange feeling she had forgotten something of utmost importance, and now her dreams were trying to tell her that, yet she could not understand.

But with her trained self-control, Astraea shook the feeling off. She was in Hermione's old room in Grimmauld Place, and by the dim light, it hadn't dawned yet.

She didn't like to watch the sunrise. The red sun always reminded her of the red sky of her dreams, something she was most intent on not thinking about.

And right now, she had other plans to take care of. She had made her final decision last night, and today she was going to go through with it. It should be rather easy, she estimated, but it was always better to start earlier than later. After all, who knew when the war would happen.

Rising from the bed, she moved up to the full-length mirror, and gave herself a critical look. Her hair was starting to turn back to brown and bushy, she would have to do something about it once she got her hands on a wand. Her face was too natural, too innocent for her liking, but that's the way it had to be. Her body… well, that was all right, and the midnight blue nightgown, the only normal thing she had found from Hermione's wardrobe, looked good on her. Too bad it was blue, though, she would have preferred red. Oh well, at least it was dark.

Slipping it off, she turned to rummage through her clothes, which were all too damn modest and too damn baggy. Really, if Hermione had had a style, it would have been to look as awful as possible. In the end, she decided on a red jumper, one of the few that did not have some big ugly lion on it, and a plain black skirt, far too long for her taste, but she had an image to uphold. And at least those were her colours.

Frowning at her reflection but deciding it was the best she could manage in this situation, she shrugged casually, and left the room.

As it was still early, and knowing his sleeping habits, he would still be fast snoring, Astraea decided upon a nice walk in the backyard. She would have gone further, but those bloody boys had tied him magically to the house, so she could not walk, Floo, or Disapparate away. Yes, they really were taking all the precautions.

Save one.

The outside air was crisp and cool, slightly reminding her of that in Murmansk, although here it was as warm as hell compared to that arctic location. But still, it held some of the sharpness she loved, and right now, the desolation she desired.

Going as far as she could before the invisible ropes started pulling her back, Astraea momentarily closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

Then she rubbed her arms a bit, waited three seconds, and struck her fist backwards over her shoulder.

She heard and felt it make contact, but much to her disappointment, the following howl did not come.

"Reflexes, Malfoy, reflexes," she admonished without turning around.

He answered by placing his coat on her shoulders, and she did not shake it off, as he had half-expected. He stayed close to her for a few moments, relishing her warmth and presence and silence, which made it easier to pretend, until she sharply turned and walked towards the house, but instead of going in, took a seat on the bench by the wall.

"I want to go home," she stated.

"To our apartment?" he asked incredulously, not only because of her wish but also her expressing it, starting a real conversation with him.

"No," Astraea narrowed her eyes. "Back to Murmansk."

"Blaise isn't there, you know," he remarked, and she noticed the hint of pain in his voice.

She shrugged.

"He will find me."

"Do you want him to find you?"

She didn't answer.

"I liked it there," she told him instead. "I liked the snow and the cold and the desolation, I liked being separated from the rest of the world. I liked taking long walks and staring at the horizon, the earth and the sky so white it was painful. I liked the castle, and the tower. I liked standing high up there and looking over the endless whiteness, emptiness, silence."

"I'll take you back there once the war is over," he promised, still shocked at the openness and feeling with which she had spoken.

"Yes," she nodded, looking past him at the horizon. For a fleeting moment she was about to change her mind, if only because he had promised to take her back home, but then she remembered it was all about survival, not what she wished for. She realized she had strayed from her path. She wanted to hold him to his promise, but she wanted to survive even more.

---

"Can I talk to you?" she asked hesitantly, taking a seat by his side.

"Sure, Hermione," Ron answered with his mouth full.

"I… I'm not sure where to start," she stammered, staring down at the kitchen table.

"The beginning suits fine," he offered, taking another hearty bite of his sandwich. If Ron had not been as sleepy and hungry as he was, he might have found her current insecure behaviour most uncommon.

"These past days," Hermione started timidly, refusing to look at him. "These past days have been good for me. They have made me see a lot of things, understand a lot of things much better. I… I forced myself to be distant, to be cold and uncaring, even cruel, for it was easier that way. It was easier not to feel. To do things without thinking, without caring…"

She gave him a quick glance to make sure he was indeed listening, and the slow and thoughtful way he was chewing his food indicated that he was.

"When you first rescued me, I thought it too good to be true. I thought it all a trick, a dream, something that will clear away like mist, throwing me back to reality. I had to be strong. I couldn't let myself believe it, not yet. It was too fragile, too unreal. I was afraid. I feared I might lose my indifference and coldness, I feared I might start to care and feel again, and then all this would be taken away, and I would have to face all the horrors with my unprotected heart. I didn't think I could bear that…"

She broke off, and turned her head away from him.

"Hermione…"

"No, let me finish. I have to say this. I had built high walls around myself, walls of coldness and malice, walls that helped me deal with my imprisonment. I didn't want to tear them down yet, it was too soon, and it had taken a lot for me to erect them in the first place. I was afraid. I thought it would be for the best – that this way nothing could hurt me."

"Hermione, I would never let anyone hurt you again. Never!"

"I know this now. I have realized it with the days I have spent here, with you and your family, and the rest of the Order. I have realized that blocking myself away from life is not the answer. It's like when you build a wall around a garden to protect it from the cruel winds of winter, but at the same time you deny access to the gently breezes and showers of spring, and the summer sunshine. And your garden dies because it needs all those good things, just like I can't live without all the warmth and care.

"I was just afraid. But then I realized that this was not a life I was living, but a mere existence. I felt suffocated behind the emotionless mask, hiding my true nature. I realized I need to tear down the walls, throw away the mask, and only then I will be able to live once again."

It took Ron some good five minutes to digest her words (and finally swallow that mouthful he had been chewing the entire time).

"Does this mean you're going to be Hermione again?" he asked at last, hopefully.

She turned to face him now.

"It means I'm trying to be Hermione again. But I'm still a bit afraid. It means I need your help. I need your warmth, your care, your love."

Ron was silent. He really couldn't think of anything suitable to say, and in fear of saying something incredibly stupid, he rather kept his mouth shut.

But Hermione, apparently, took it the wrong way.

"I mean… that is… if you don't mind, of course. I mean, I did some pretty awful things to you, the curse, and the cupboard… I'd understand if you need some space, some time to… to trust me again… really, I understand if you don't want to be with me right now…"

"No! Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "Of course I want to be with you."

To prove his words, since she was still looking a bit unsure, he pulled her to him and wrapped his arms around her in a crushing embrace.

"I always want to be with you," he whispered into her hair.

She smiled against his neck, and slowly pulled away, still staying close and looking straight into his eyes.

"Good," she whispered, and leant towards him again.

Expecting another hug, he held his arms out for her and closed his eyes; only to get the shock of his lifetime a moment later, when instead of feeling her arms around him, he felt her lips against his.

In fact, he was too shocked to move, even when she didn't pull away the next moment but continued to kiss him. And even then he was still too shocked to move to kiss her back. So she had no other option but to withdraw herself.

"I'm sorry," she said, looking away. "I shouldn't have done this. I'm sorry."

Ron was still too shocked to react.

"It's too soon. Or too late. Whatever. I couldn't expect you to still want me."

He would have told her that he wanted her now and always, and that this was his greatest wish come true, had he not been still too shocked to speak.

"I'm sorry," she apologized again and stood to leave. "I don't know what I was thinking about."

But seeing her leave finally shook him out of his shocked stupor, and helped him find his voice.

"What about Malfoy?"

She stopped, but didn't turn around.

"I realized many things during the days here with you. He might care for me, but his love wasn't enough to melt the cold walls around me. Yet yours was. And that means my own feelings are not what I thought them to be. I have denied them. Too long have I denied them. Too long."

Ron swallowed and cleared his throat.

"What are your true feelings then?" he asked in fear and wonder.

Now she turned and walked back to him, halting in front of him and looking straight into his blue eyes. Her hands moved to the back of his neck, then slid into his hair.

"I want you," she said simply and kissed him again. This time he managed to react, even though only barely.

"Oh, I'm sorry to interrupt," a cool voice spoke from the doorway.

Stepping back and raising her eyes, she met the glance of Millicent, leading against the doorframe and observing the scene in front of her.

That moment Milla was very proud of herself. The flash deep in the girl's brown eyes had lasted less that a nanosecond when their gazes locked, and it would have been so easy to miss it, yet she didn't. She had seen it clearly, and she knew exactly what it was.

Victory.

"I should go," Hermione said, making her way towards the door and brushing past the Slytherin.

"Wait, Astraea," Milla called after her.

She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

"It's Hermione again."

"Where are you going?"

"Report to Moody. He asked me to come when I was feeling better. And I feel great now."

She flashed her a smile and was gone, leaving Milla behind with one thought in her mind.

Draco was not going to like this.

---

"Harry!" Ron beamed at his friend when he entered the kitchen.

"Oh, hi, Ron," he replied a bit less enthusiastically and sat down to the table.

Ron smiled at him.

Harry poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

Ron grinned at him.

Harry took a sip of his drink.

Ron winked at him.

"All right," he said at last, putting his glass down. "What is it, mate? Why are you so happy today?"

Ron smiled, grinned, winked, and made a dramatic pause.

"It's Hermione," he said at last. "She's back."

Harry stared at him for a couple of moments. He knew exactly what his friend had meant with this, and it shocked the hell out of him as well.

"Really?" he asked at last. "That's terrific!"

"Yes!!!" Ron exclaimed and grinned stupidly again.

"That's terrific!" Harry repeated. "The best news after finding her. This is great! This is awesome! This is… a miracle! Does Draco know?"

Ron would have frowned at the mention of Malfoy if he hadn't been too happy at the moment.

"He will," he answered simply. "There is something she must tell him."

Harry smiled, happy to think about the two lovebirds back together again. He smiled as he helped himself to a sandwich, he smiled while he ate it, he smiled when he was done and glanced back to Ron.

Who was looking a bit restless now. Not anxious, but… he had the there's-something-more-to-it-and-I-really-want-to-tell-you expression on his face. Realizing that, Harry didn't let him suffer any longer.

"What?" he asked with as much curiosity as he could muster.

"It's Hermione," Ron grinned, and Harry grinned as well. "She loves me."

Harry grinned for a while longer until the words and their meaning made it to his brain. Once they had, his face grew serious again.

"What?" he questioned darkly.

"I said she loves me. She said so herself. She even kissed me and everything," Ron was beaming.

"But what about Draco?"

Ron couldn't mind that question coming from his friend since it had been the first he had asked her himself, but the grave look on his face was starting to annoy him.

"Well, she doesn't love him anymore. She loves me now. Aren't you happy, Harry? It's what we have been wishing to happen for months."

But his friend shook his head.

"It's what **you** have been wishing to happen for months," he corrected.

"So? Can't you be happy for me, Harry? Shouldn't you be happy for me? I am your friend, aren't I?" he demanded.

"Of course you are, Ron," he said quickly. "But…"

"But what? You suddenly like Malfoy better than me, is that it? Seven years we have been friends, and he has done everything to make your life miserable, and now you would rather have him happy than me? Is that it, Harry?"

"No, Ron, no, of course not. It's just happening too soon, too fast," Harry explained.

"What?" he frowned. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying… I'm saying that… Are you sure we are dealing with Hermione here?"

"Eh?"

"Are you sure it isn't just Astraea playing with your feelings?"

"No!" Ron said at once, without thinking. "She is Hermione. I know her. I have known her over seven years and I can tell whether she is being sincere or not."

"If you are so sure…"

"Just admit it, Harry!" he demanded, his happy mood having faded as well.

"Admit what?"

"That you simply can't stand me being happy."

"What? Why? It's not…"

But Ron cut him off.

"You're just jealous, Harry. If you can't be happy, then you don't want me to be either. Well, it's not my fault you let your happiness slip away, or should I say, that you simply gave it up. But I have loved Hermione for a long time and I'm not going to let her go now that I have her. She loves me, and I love her, and I trust her, and if you can't accept that, Harry, then I am not your true friend. Have a nice day!"

Harry looked around in the empty kitchen in complete shock and confusion.

---

Milla was marching up and down in front of the fireplace, deep in thought.

"Millie," Neville spoke from his seat, trying to get her attention.

She stopped, wheeled around abruptly, and pointed a finger at him, so suddenly that he started and pressed himself against the back of the armchair.

"She has a plan," Milla announced, shaking her finger at him. "She has a plan."

"Who has what plan?" Neville asked once he was sure that she was not going to throttle him in the near future.

"I don't know what plan!" she exclaimed. "Would I be here thinking myself crazy if I knew what she was up to? Would I, ah, would I?"

"No, you wouldn't," Neville squeaked.

"You're right, I wouldn't," Milla agreed and continued her walking.

"Why Ron?" she asked after a moment, but since he was too scared to answer, she got no reply. "Why not Draco? Or even Harry? Or anyone else for that matter. What's different about Ron? Sure, they are her best friends, but why Ron? Why not Harry? If it was me, I would take Harry any time. He is smarter, stronger, prettier… rich and famous…"

Neville felt a tinge of unhappiness join his fear. He was no Harry Potter after all.

"You!" Millicent turned to him again, a determined and dangerous look in her eyes.

"If you had to choose between Harry and Ron, who would you rather have as your lover?"

Neville squeaked, gulped, and blushed. That was not a question he was too comfortable to answer. Especially when asked by the girl he had kissed last night. What was she trying to do now? Had he been **that** bad at kissing? That was an option.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Neither. I'm very happy to have you."

Oh Merlin! Did he just say he wanted to have her as a lover? Oh Merlin! Oh Merlin! Oh Merlin! Why the hell did he have to open his stupid mouth in the first place and catch her attention? Perhaps she wouldn't have noticed him at all otherwise.

Oh Merlin! Was it possible to die of blushing? If so, he would get out of this situation very soon.

In his embarrassment he never saw her smile, but he couldn't miss her sitting down to his lap because pretty as the girl was, she was not quite as light as a feather.

"Have me as a lover, hmm?" she purred into his ear. "I have never offered that, have I?"

His blush deepened and he would have loved to rush out of the door this very moment, but the girl sitting in his lap put a stop to that plan.

"I… I… I… no, of course not," he managed at last.

"No?" she pouted. "Am I not good enough for you? Don't you want me?"

"No!" he exclaimed. "I mean yes. I mean no. I mean… I mean…"

"You mean what?" she asked, mentally laughing behind her angry expression.

"I mean… I like you Millie. I like you a lot."

She stared at his frightened and nervous eyes for a moment longer, then promptly burst out laughing.

"I'm sorry, Nev," she said at last, taking in his utterly confused and rather miserable look. "You are just so fun to tease. You really should have seen your face."

"I'm sorry," she said again when his expression did not change. "I like you, too. A lot. Let me make it up to you?"

And without waiting for his answer, she kissed him.

"Now," she continued, once her sweet care had finally managed to calm him down. "Back to my question – who would you rather take as your lover – Harry or Ron? You can imagine being Hermione, if that helps."

Neville blushed again, and then thought a bit.

"You want to know who Hermione would rather pick?" he reworded the question.

"Yes."

"Well, that's easy. Ron, of course," he said at once.

"Why?" she frowned. "Harry is smarter, stronger, prettier, and all that."

"Yes, but Harry loves Ginny. But Ron has still a crush on her," he explained.

"No, that can't be it," Milla shook her head. "If she would choose by love, she would have taken Draco. And he's smarter, stronger, prettier than both Harry and Ron. No, there must be some other motive in her head. Why Ron? Why Ron?"

"Milla?" Neville spoke, threading his fingers softly through her hair.

"Hmm?"

"Do you mind telling me what this is all about? What's wrong with Hermione?"

"Wrong?" she asked incredulously. "Why should there be something wrong with Hermione?"

"I'm not very smart, or very strong, or very pretty. I'm not one of the great heroes nor do I have a shining personality. But I've learned some things with sitting in the corner and not being noticed, and that's the skill of observing. People often look past me when I'm in the room, and that gives me the great opportunity to watch them while they think they are alone. Working in the garden has improved it, I need to notice it whenever any of the herbs are falling ill to take care of them in time. And I do notice things, Milla. There is something wrong with Hermione."

Millicent exhaled deeply, and looked at him in awe.

"Of all the members of the Order, including Moody, you are the only one who has noticed."

"I don't know. Perhaps I'm the only one telling you my suspicions. But I still don't know the whole truth. Will you tell me, Milla? Can you?"

"You're trustworthy enough," she said with a smile. "And I'll tell you. Just… promise me not to tell anyone else anything about it."

"I promise."

---

"Draco?"

"Yes, Potter?"

Harry fidgeted. He didn't like to be the messenger, but someone had to tell him sooner, not later.

"Moody wants to see you."

Well, it didn't need to be him, did it?

"Thanks, Potter."

---

"Why couldn't you two be kissing each other in the kitchen, Milla?"

Millicent looked up from her position on Neville in the armchair; having received a headache from too much thinking about Astraea and her evilness, she had decided to take a break and do a bit of kissing.

Draco had taken a seat on the sofa, looking forlorn and depressed, but that was his everyday expression.

"If it bothers you this much, we can go someplace else," she compromised. But he didn't even raise a brow at her highly unusual behavior as she was never one to give in, but always making others give in to her wishes, one way or another.

He kept his silence, and even this was usual. He spoke little other than out of necessity these days, and though he preferred to speak those words to Millicent, she assumed that it was Neville's presence hindering him.

"Go wait for me in the kitchen, will you?" she turned to her boyfriend.

Neville, observant as he was, realized her reason to have him gone, and didn't take offence.

"I'll make you some cocoa," he smiled, and pushing Milla gently off him, stood up to leave.

"And prepare yourself for a surprise," Draco addressed him darkly. "Or perhaps it's not so surprising at all, I don't know. Your whole bunch has been probably waiting for this for ages, holding your breaths, dreaming of the moment your Golden Girl finally gets her wits about, and realizes that they are meant to be together."

Neville had stopped in the doorway, confused and horrified at being the recipient of such an angry speech that made him no sense whatsoever. (Other than the obvious fact there was something Malfoy didn't like).

Millicent would have been just as bewildered as him, had she not been fortunate enough to witness a certain scene in the kitchen little while ago. And now, in this new light, she also understood the meaning behind Draco's first sentence. It wasn't 'Why couldn't you two be kissing each other **in the kitchen**, Milla?', it was 'Why couldn't** you two** be kissing each other in the kitchen, Milla?'. Their newfound relationship didn't anger him, at least not too much, but something else had. And she realized she didn't have to deliver him those ill news after all.

It was Draco and his accusation that cut through her ponderings.

"You knew, didn't you?"

"Yes," she admitted, choosing not to lie. "But I learned about it only today."

"And you were going to tell me when – next month?"

"Don't be ridiculous," she scolded. The best defense was getting offensive, Milla knew, and it might have even worked, had she not used it against someone who knew both her and that principle through and through.

"I was going to tell you," she added. "I just decided to figure it all out first."

"Figure all what out first?" Draco snapped. "It's clear as crystal to me. You ordered me out of the house when she needed me the most, and now she has realized it's Weasel who really cares for her and who she wants to spend the rest of her life with. Simple."

Her jaw open, Millicent started at him in shock for half a minute.

"Are you a complete idiot, Draco?" she asked at last.

"Yes, I am," he growled his reply. "I should have never listened to you in the first place."

She stared at him incredulously for another while, wondering how daft he could be. But then she remembered the tiniest spark in her eyes, something she had almost missed herself, and realized how it must have been for him to see his beloved kissing someone else. Of course he had been too shocked, too hurt, too betrayed to notice something she was hiding most keenly.

"You're right," Milla gasped in her revelation. "I am an idiot."

He looked as if her concurring had confirmed his worst fears and robbed the last of his hope from him.

"At least she is happy," he muttered miserably.

"Happy my ass!" Millicent exclaimed, jumping up from the chair, and throwing her arms in the air. "She's scheming, that's what it is. Only for the life of Salazar, I have no idea what her plans are."

"Finally sharing her life with someone she loves? Living with him happily ever after? Riding into the sunset together on a hippogriff?"

She opened her mouth to say something but halted, and looked thoughtful for a moment.

"I'd love to see that," she muttered to herself, then remembered what she had wanted to say before an image of riding into the sunset on a hippogriff had invaded her mind.

"Astraea does not love. Astraea schemes."

"Astraea?" he questioned, and she caught the exact moment the realization dawned on him, but instead of cheering him up, as she would have expected, it only seemed to devastate him more.

"It's not your fault, poor baby," she took a seat by his side. "Of course you were too shocked and hurt to notice the difference. It was just my luck that I saw it, but surely you would have seen through her acting, as well, given some time."

But Draco shook his head.

"It's not that. I thought she had healed from the whole Astraea thing. I thought she had got over it and was happy, and if not with me… at least she would be happy."

Millicent wanted to cry at that. Her poor baby, loving so selflessly that he'd rather have his beloved happy with someone else, than not happy alone. Shooting a gaze at Neville, still standing on the threshold, she realized her feelings for him hadn't evolved that far yet. She would much rather have him alone and miserable than living happily with… with… that Doonlen girl, for example. Because it was always easier to seduce miserable loners than those in a happy relationship. And if he ever dared to leave her, misery and loneliness would be a well-deserved punishment.

"She will be happy. One day," she reassured him. "And then she will be happy with you. First, however, help me figure out what she is planning."

"To hurt him?"

"I don't think she would go through that much to simply break his heart. I may be wrong, of course."

"I think she wants his absolute and complete trust," Neville spoke from the doorway, surprising three people with it, including himself.

Hesitatively but bravely he stepped into the room when she beckoned him closer, and sat down into the armchair he had occupied before.

"What do you mean?" she questioned.

"I mean, you suspect her, don't you? You don't trust her yet, you are wary, you keep an eye on her. But she wants someone to trust her, to believe her without question. You asked me before, Millie, why would she choose Ron over Harry, when Harry is smarter, stronger, prettier. And the answer is, exactly for those reasons. Have you heard the saying 'love will make a fool out of you'? Because Ron loves Hermione, because he wants her to love him back, he is more susceptible to her lies and acting. He only sees what he wants, he only believes what he wants. And when she tells him she loves him, he will believe her. And with that she achieves complete power over him. If she plays her cards right, he will do everything she wants."

Both Millicent and Draco were eyeing him in awe.

"I think," he added quickly.

---

The smell of morning coffee, of exotic dried herbs, of hesitative bravery. Lilya took a deep sniff of the finished potion in front of her, relishing its fragrance. It had its distinctive mother-of-pearl sheen and the steam rising in characteristic spirals. She knew how to brew her potion, and this time she had been extra careful.

Not able to suppress a devilish laugh, she reached for the crystal vial on the table to fill it with the answer to her problem, and the door to her happiness.

-----

**End Note: **Ron finally got the girl he wanted. Be happy for him. Or perhaps not. But **REVIEW **anyway. :)


	17. Chapter 17: Plans Go A Bit Awry

**Disclaimer: **Don't own them.

----- **  
**

**Everything To Lose**

**_Chapter 17: Plans Go A Bit Awry_**  
_In which things get fiery, and Ron is not the only one having a really bad day._

Harry was walking down a hallway when a door to his left suddenly opened, spurted an arm, and pulled him in. His surprise did not lessen when he saw the occupants of the room – Neville lounging in an armchair and staring into the fire, Malfoy sitting on the sofa with a grim expression, and Millicent standing in front of him glaring into his eyes.

"Yes?" Harry wondered.

Instead of answering, Millicent, still holding on to his arm, pulled him forcefully towards the sofa, and pushed him down onto it, then took the seat between him and Malfoy.

Confused about what was happening here, he turned his gaze towards Neville in silent plead, but his head was turned, and there was no help coming from that direction.

"Yes?" he tried again.

"Astraea seduced Ronald," Millicent stated.

Almost automatically, Harry looked at his fellow Gryffindor once again. By the lack of surprise in his demeanor, he concluded Neville knew all about Astraea. It would be a lie to tell that he didn't like it. In fact, he almost let out a sigh of relief, finally having someone to talk to about this. Well, there had always been Ron, of course, but he had a thing for Hermione and therefore some difficulties being objective. Then there was Malfoy, who also had a thing for Hermione, and was also a Slytherin, and his former enemy, and therefore not one who he would have picked to have a heartfelt conversation with. When it came to Millicent, she was simply scary. So the coming of Neville felt like a great blessing. Especially now with Ron being seduced and all.

"I figured as much," Harry said. "It was way too sudden in my opinion, but Ron, unfortunately, disagrees."

"He only sees what he wants to see," Milla spoke wisely, quoting Neville's speech from earlier.

"She has practically wrapped him around her little finger," Harry nodded. "What do you think she wants from him?"

"A way out perhaps?" she ventured.

"She told me she wanted to go home," Draco joined the discussion. "Back to Murmansk."

"She wouldn't go there," she shook her head. "She knows we know to look for her from there. Besides, it's under the Order's control."

"But it's a piece of cake for her to get rid of our guards there," Harry argued. "You should see how well she fights. Better than before."

"Still, why would she want to go there?" Milla argued back.

"We are not the only ones who know to look for her from there," Draco said.

"I don't think she wants to go back to Blaise," she objected to that idea.

"Well, she didn't want to leave him either," Harry insisted.

"What do you think, Neville?" Millicent asked sharply, and if Neville had seen the look on her face, he would have been smart enough not to answer, or at least do it vaguely. But he was still staring into the fire as if it held all the answers of the world.

"I think she doesn't know herself what she wants," he spoke quietly.

That was not the answer she had been expecting, but at least he hadn't agreed with Harry, so perhaps she could forgive him this one time.

"Of course she knows what she wants," she scoffed. "You simply have to look at her to realize that."

"She simply hides her uncertainties," he said in a gentle voice, as if he was talking to himself, but still his words managed to dig deeply into his listeners' minds, and make them consider it.

"Whatever her reason might be," Millicent said after a while, realizing she wasn't in the best position to win the argument, and therefore suavely circling around it before she managed to lose it instead, "there is still the question of what we are going to do about this."

"What can we? Ron will not listen to us," Harry said helplessly.

"Perhaps we could make her give herself away?" Millicent suggested.

"She is too smart for that," Draco noted.

"What do you think?" That question was addressed to Neville again, but this time it came from Harry.

"I think you should still talk to Ron. You have been friends for a long time, he will listen to you."

"You're right. We have been friends for a long time, and therefore I know he **won't** listen to me."

"Hey!" Millicent exclaimed as a new idea hit her. "Perhaps we could play her game – pretend to believe she's back to normal, but secretly still keep an eye on her."

"She'll see us through," Harry argued. "I'm not a very good actor."

"But we don't need** her** to believe you," she explained enthusiastically. "It's enough if Ron believes you."

"So you're asking me to lie to my best friend?"

"Yes!" Millicent smiled victoriously, then thought back to his words, and hurried to add, "But it's all for his good, in the end. He'll forgive you."

"Let's hope he does," Harry muttered darkly.

---

"Phase one complete," Millicent announced proudly.

It had been four days since finding out about Astraea and Ron, and those four days had not been easy for anyone. Or at least they hadn't been easy for Harry, who had to pretend all the time that he was very happy for his two best friends being very happy together. He had to smile at Ron, when he really wanted to warn him, and he had to smile at Astraea when he really wanted to... well, he didn't know what he wanted to do with her, but he certainly didn't want her anywhere near Ron.

For Millicent and Neville it wasn't that hard at all, mostly because they had their own things to take care of, and no one thought it odd when they did not spend their whole time with Ron and Astraea. When it came to Malfoy... well, it was hard for him, but then again everyone expected it to be hard for him. After all, his girlfriend had just broken it off with him, and was now rather openly showing off her feelings for another man.

As Ron and Astraea did not hide their relationship, soon the whole Order knew about it. The overall option was in their favour, although there were some who took the time to see whether Malfoy was all right with it. Those people found out two things. First, Malfoy was not all right with it. Second, Malfoy was not all right with people asking him whether he was all right with it. So, they left him be. Which suited him fine, really.

Ron and Astraea played their part well. At least she did, and he let himself be fooled. They held hands, exchanged a kiss after every few minutes, and did all the other things one would expect from a new couple.

Draco forced himself to observe, no matter how much witnessing it hurt him. But he had to agree with Millicent – this was not Hermione, and yet, it was very hard to tell them apart. But there were signs, these little trivial things people would not notice unless they were specifically looking for them. For example, she was much too generous with her affection in public. Nothing indecent, of course, but Hermione had never liked flaunting her relationship and happiness.

Then there was also the look Milla had talked about. Victory. Satisfaction. Completion. True, she seldom revealed it, and even then realized her mistake, and hid it quickly; but the damage had already been done, and Draco had seen the look. Yet, he didn't confront her about it, and returning the favour, she had chosen to ignore him.

Neville had become their spy, a position he was not very happy about. He said he had things to do, other things than sneak after Ron and Astraea, more important things. But then Milla had given him **that** look, and Harry had just looked miserable, and even Malfoy had looked... something, and he realized he simply could not say no.

So he did spy on Ron and Astraea whenever he could, and that usually meant spending time in their makeshift library, but instead of reading about some rather interesting plants, he had to listen intently to every word they were saying, and take frequent peeks of those two. He didn't like it, but it made Milla smile, and he loved her smile. And her kisses. But he tried not to think about that, at least not in public, because that always made him blush furiously.

When it came to Ron, he was happy and oblivious. But at least he was happy, Harry tried to lessen his guilt. He laughed, and smiled, and joked a lot more than he had for what felt like a century. He was happy. He was going to end up heartbroken, but at least he was happy at the moment. That was the perpetual matra in Harry's mind, when he had to smile while he really wanted to scream. He was really starting to hate Astraea.

Millicent was still trying to figure out Astraea's plans. So far all that she had managed had been hell of a headaches, but she refused to give up. She was going to get to the bottom of it, no matter what it took. She had some theories, of course, like her actually being a Dark Lord's spy, but the longer she considered them, the falser they started to sound. And in the end, she still had no idea whatsoever.

"Coming phase two," she continued, holding their little meeting this time in Draco's (and Hermione's) apartment, to make sure no one could eavesdrop on them.

"What's phase two?" Harry frowned. He had a feeling he was not going to like it.

"You will talk to Ron," Milla beamed.

"About what?"

"Astraea, of course. Of your suspicions that she is Astraea, that is."

"But," Harry blinked in confusion. "We already decided that he would not listen to me, and therefore that plan would not do."

"No," Milla shook her head. "We decided he **was** not going to listen to you back then, but now that you have tried to be happy for them, and spent so much time together, your suspicions hold a lot more weight."

"You don't know Ron," Harry said with certainty.

"He will listen to you," she insisted. "Just mention something, casually, and we will be there to back you up."

"You? There? No way. He will know at once we are scheming against him."

"No, he won't. We won't say a word against Astraea. We speak in favour of her instead. It's called reverse psychology," she explained with sparkling eyes. "All we need to do is make him doubt, and from then on, his doubts will do everything for us."

Harry kept his silence, but looked at the girl as if she had gone insane.

"I sometimes feel like he already knows the truth," Neville spoke for the first time during their meeting.

"Ronald?" she inquired. "That man does not know anything, he is completely oblivious when it comes to her. He believes everything she tells him."

"I don't know," Draco argued. "Sometimes it feels like he **does** know. And Godric knows I can't really blame him. If she had chosen to seduce me instead, I would have forced myself to be oblivious as well, and pretend that everything was all right."

"What?" he asked from Milla who was staring at him with wide eyes. "You know how much I love her."

"You... you... you..." She paused, and took a deep breath, then continued,

"You said 'Godric knows'!"

"So?"

"So! Godric! As in Godric Gryffindor!!! You are turning into a Gryffindor, Draco. I cannot let that happen."

And jumping up from the couch, she walked over to him, grabbed his face between her hands, and looked straight into his eyes.

"Repeat after me: Thank Salazar I'm a Slytherin. Thank Salazar I'm a Slytherin. Thank Salazar I'm a Slytherin."

They really needed the burst of laughter that followed.

---

The same evening Harry, Draco, Neville, Millicent, Ron, and Astraea were lounging together at the kitchen table. In some other times it might have been a jolly get-together between friends, but tonight it wasn't. Tonight it was more of an uncomfortable silence filled with Ron and Astraea kissing each other more than often, in spite of Ron's ears being very dark red, and everybody else pretending to be deep in thought.

In truth, however, Millicent was sending evil glares to Harry trying to get him to talk and start phase two, Draco simply stared blankly in front of him, and Neville watched Milla warily, as if she might explode any moment, which, in fact, was not that ridiculous at all.

"So," Harry said at last, unable to bear the silence and Milla's killer glares much longer. "Is it good to be back, Hermione?"

"Of course," Astraea grinned.

"And with Ron. Who would have ever guessed that."

"Everybody," she said with a soft smile. "Even you thought we were meant to be together, didn't you? And now, after many ordeals, we finally are."

"Yes, I did think so. But it was you, Hermione, who convinced me otherwise. It was you, Hermione, who told me there was only one person you would always love with all your heart, mind, and soul, and that person was not Ron."

"Yes," she said and lowered her eyes. "But we are all allowed to make mistakes once in a while, aren't we?"

"Of course we are," Harry nodded.

"Erm," he added after a moment, not sure what he should say next. In his helplessness he turned towards Milla, his eyes asking her to back him up just like she had promised, but all he got back was another evil glare commanding him to say more.

"So," Harry started again, but was luckily saved from figuring out his next words. Saved by the most unlikely person.

"We all make mistakes," Astraea spoke. "I remember one night months ago when the four of us were sitting around this very table."

No one said a word, realizing that something bad was to come, either from the way she had said it, or from the faint gleam in her eyes. No one but Ron, that is.

"Yeah, we did that rather often. What particular night are you thinking about?"

"The one you almost called me a slut."

Ron gasped at that, and so did Neville, while Harry, Draco, and Millicent turned their speculative gazes back to Astraea, trying to see through her plans.

"Hermione, you know... I didn't... I want... you know," Ron spluttered. "I was just angry... I didn't mean... I would never... I know... you know that I would never..."

She gave him a sweet little smile.

"Relax, honey, I'm not blaming you. I forgave you for that a long time ago. I know you didn't mean it, you were just angry. But you were also wrong. My relationship with Draco was most innocent back then."

"Of course, Hermione, of course," Ron nodded in hurry, happy to still be on her good side, and intent on showing that he did believe her.

"But we weren't the only ones sneaking into each other's room," she continued. "And not everybody's relationship was quite that innocent."

Milla narrowed her eyes at her, not realizing what she was getting at, but smelling an evil plan nonetheless. Draco and Neville were both considering her words very carefully, trying to think out her point before she revealed it. But Harry had gone very still, and very pale.

Seeing that Astraea smirked, then turned to Ron with an apologetic expression.

"I'm sorry I've held this from you for so long, but she made me promise. Yet I feel this is something you have the right to know. After all, you do consider him your friend."

"What? Who?" Ron was confused. "What do I deserve to know?"

"When I said there were others sneaking around and doing things together, I meant... oh, how would I say it—" she paused, and fidgeted nervously.

"What? What is it, Hermione?" he demanded. "Tell me."

"It's just that... your sister, Ron. Your little sister... and your best friend."

"Ginny?" he frowned. "Ginny's at Hogwarts."

"Yes, but... at the time she was visiting us..."

"What is it? Is she all right?" Ron sounded concerned.

"I don't know," Astraea answered miserably. "The next morning I found her crying in her bed. She didn't want to tell me, but in the end she did."

"What did she say?"

"She said that he had left her again. Right after she had given herself to him."

"WHAT!!?" Ron exploded, jumping to his feet. "WHO???"

She drew away from his anger as if afraid. But she told him the name.

"Harry."

In the momentary silence that followed, five heads turned to Harry, whose mouth was hanging open, eyes wide, and skin almost the colour of flour.

Then Ron couldn't take it any more.

"IS THIS TRUE???" he bellowed. "DID YOU DEFILE MY LITTLE SISTER???"

"No!" Harry exclaimed, standing up as well, and making calming gestures with his hands.

"It wasn't like that," he explained. "You got it wrong, I didn't..."

"You didn't sleep with my sister?" Ron demanded darkly, although his voice had gone down a notch.

Harry gulped. He really wanted to answer in negative. He really, really wanted. But he couldn't.

"I did, but..."

Yet he was not given the opportunity to defend or explain himself, as Ron let out a terrible scream, and lunged for Harry's neck over the table.

Chairs clattered as they hit the floor, people were yelling at each other, and trying to separate the two best friends rolling on the floor, one screaming and punching the other with all his might, and his victim doing all he could to defend himself from the blows and strikes.

Astraea slowly stood up from her chair, and looked to the chaos she had created, small smile playing on her lips.

_Perfect_, she thought, then forced her expression into one of horror, and with a cry ran to the others.

---

"So much for phase two," Harry muttered, touching his hand to a mighty bruise on his cheek and wincing.

"Just a small drawback," Millicent said, trying her best to stay optimistic.

"Oh yes, just a small drawback," he spoke with sarcasm. "So what if Ron now hates my guts and wants to kill me, he will still believe me when I tell him that the girl of his dreams is only being with him for some evil scheme of hers."

Milla frowned.

"What happened between you and that Weasley girl anyway?" she inquired after a moment.

"That's none of your business!" he snapped.

"Oh come on!" she yelled back, losing her patience. "I think I have a right to know when my brilliant plan got flushed down the toilet because you shagged and dumped that little bint!"

"Don't call her that!" Harry screamed, jumping to his feet, and advancing towards the girl.

"Yeah? Well what are you going to do about it?" Millicent taunted.

"I'll..."

"You'll what? Hit me? Curse me? Kill me perhaps?"

Draco halted in the doorway, taking in the view opening up to him. He had left for a second to fetch a potion for Potter's bruises, and it seemed he had made it back just in time to stop yet another fight.

With a sigh, he walked up to the two people standing close with their noses almost touching, their eyes flashing in anger, and their posture promising pain and punishment.

"Drop it, Milla," he said, pulling the girl away, and giving Potter the little bottle.

"Simple healing potion. Works better than any spell."

Harry took the offered bottle, but instead of doing anything reasonable with it, he stared at it blankly as if it confused him a great deal.

Milla kept glaring at him angrily, but nevertheless allowed Draco to lead her towards an armchair, and place her down into it.

Once the ferocious duo had been separated by enough room, he sat down himself, but kept his silence, giving others time to calm down.

Surprisingly, it was Milla who came around first. Neville must have rubbed off on her.

"Sorry," she said.

"Fine," Harry answered, and they both lapsed into silence again, looking like they were not going to say anything any time soon. Draco didn't move either, although he did have better things to do than sitting in silence. Just that he was a bit apprehensive about leaving those two alone.

---

"I made you cocoa!" Lilya exclaimed happily.

"Thanks," Neville said tiredly, looking around the empty kitchen, cleaned from all hints of the previous fight. Except for his memory and despondence, it might as well have never happened.

"You're welcome," she smiled, sitting down across from him and examining him closely. "Hey, is that a bruise on your left cheek?"

Well, not all hints of the fight.

"Yes," Neville nodded sadly. "It's no big deal, really."

"Annabelle kicked your ass again?" she winked, referring to his pet Devil's Snare they had named 'Annabelle' after one of Lilya's aunts who looked shockingly similar to the plant, as she had told him.

"Something like that," Neville replied vaguely, not in the mood to bring up the fight, although he really couldn't discuss it with her since she didn't know half the details and he had promised not to tell.

"Why such a long face?" the girl inquired. "Drink your cocoa, I'll guarantee it will make you feel better."

He nodded and looked down into his drink, but didn't hurry to take a sip.

Lilya tried to repress her anxiety and be the listening ear she had always been to him.

"You want to tell me about it?" she asked.

"No."

"Is it that bad?"

"Yes. I don't know," he sighed and looked up into the pretty and concerned face that had been there to help him through most of his problems, at least before Milla had occupied that place. With that another realization came to him.

"It's been a while since our last talk," Neville said.

"We talked only yesterday," Lilya reminded him.

"No, I mean a real talk. Not just an exchange of greetings."

"Yes, it's been a while," she said with a nostalgic expression.

"I'm sorry, Lilya, I don't want to alienate from you. I don't want to hurt you or anything. It's just that... I've been busy, and you've been busy..."

"But we have always been busy," she said, then lowered her eyes and blushed, "I know what it's about. That girl, Millicent. You are now spending all of your free time with her."

At that he blushed as well.

"I'm sorry. That has been most terrible of me."

She nodded in agreement, but hearing the sincerity in his voice, and seeing the sorrow and regret in his eyes, she couldn't stay angry with him.

"It's alright," Lilya smiled. "Just promise not to do it again."

"I promise," Neville said at once, thinking that he was making quite many serious promises lately. He had every intention to keep them all.

"I'll drink to that!" he exclaimed, and raised his cup with a flourish. But before he managed to take his first sip, Lilya had jumped up, and grabbed it from his hand, sloshing some of the liquid onto the table and on her hand.

"What's wrong?" he asked in alarm.

"It's cold already," she informed him quickly, suppressing her yelp of pain at getting herself burnt with the hot cocoa. But she was used to getting burnt with boiling substance as it happened once in a while in her work of thinking out and mixing together brand new potions, and therefore managed to keep her expression calm enough.

"Besides," she added, placing the cup upon the counter and turning to the fridge next to it, "If we are celebrating, we should rather have something better. Like mead."

She took the bottle and two glasses to the table, and they spent the next hour drinking and talking and laughing, just like in the good old days. And when Neville finally excused himself, she sighed of relief at making such progress even without her secret weapon.

Lilya remained at the kitchen table, resting her head upon her palms, and daydreaming. She might have stayed like that for hours, had someone's cry not awakened her.

"It's cold!" he exclaimed, glaring at the cup of cocoa in his hands, then shrugging, and drinking it all up anyway.

With a yelp Lilya jumped to her feet, her eyes big of horror as the realization of what had just happened hit her.

---

Ron was not having a good day. Well, that was not entirely true. There had been nothing wrong with his morning, other than the fact that he had to get up, his afternoon had been tolerable enough, and even the evening had started promisingly. And then turned into a complete disaster.

Ron was still seething with anger, not only at his best friend, who was going to pay for his actions, that much was certain, or his name wasn't Ronald Bilius Weasley. Which it unfortunately was. But he was also a bit angry at Hermione for keeping it from him this long, and then ruining his day by revealing it. Of course, this was one of the things he wanted to know, at least as long as he didn't know it yet. Now that he did know, a part of him wished he didn't. And then he was angry at Ginny for getting herself into such situation, and at the world in general.

And even though he had got a chance to let his fists fly, it didn't seem enough to him. He wanted to punch somebody, and he wanted to do it now. This was why he was searching through the house for any of his brothers, to accompany him on his mission 'Kick Potter's Ass'. He knew where the coward had run off to, not that there were that many places he could go to; but he was ready to bet anything he had chosen Malfoy's apartment as his refuge. Which meant that Malfoy was also there, and perhaps the Bulstrode girl, as well. Which in turn meant that some back-up would come handy. And that meant he had to find some of his brothers, who would be more than willing to join his plans, once they found out what injustice had been inflicted upon their little sister. Very soon now, his anger would find its release.

But it seemed that this evening, luck didn't favour Ron at all. He was in the middle of plotting his just revenge, when someone ran into him with such force that they both tumbled down. And of course Ron was the one beneath, meaning that he fell onto the hard floor, while the culprit landed on him. Which happened to be enough to kick most of the air, and some of the anger, out of him.

"Ouch!" he protested vehemently, something that seemed rather suitable in such a situation, at least in his opinion. The next thing to do was to get back to his feet, and he did that, then helped the girl up as well.

She stared at him with her grey eyes wide and filled with tears, and Ron found something about this situation strangely familiar. But then she opened her mouth, and all he could do was listen, and try to comprehend her ramblings, spoken out so rapidly that he was barely able to make out a word or two.

Ron frowned. The girl was now clinging to his arm, and didn't look like she would let go any time soon. Besides, she was definitely in panic, and some of that panic seemed to infect him as well. Like he really needed any more troubles right now!

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded rudely, cutting through her speech. She fell silent, and stared at him in shock and confusion for a few moments, before giving her answer.

"I'm Lilya Doonlen, but that doesn't matter. What matters is that..."

"And what the hell is your problem?" he interrupted her again. She wasn't his friend, and she was in his way, and he had every right to act like this with her. Also, he was still angry, and didn't really care for someone else's problems, since he had enough of his own to deal with.

"I accidentally gave Moody some love potion."

All right. Ron had to admit that this was probably the last thing he had expected to hear, and it was also shocking enough to clear his mind from all of its previous thoughts and troubles. In addition to that, it was rather unbelievable.

"Come again?" he questioned, even forgetting to sound rude in his surprise.

"I didn't do it on purpose," Lilya wailed. "I would never drug Moody on purpose, especially with Amortentia. But it was meant for Neville, but then I changed my mind because it would have been the wrong thing to do, but then Moody came, and picked up the cup, and even though it was cold, and even though he always warns us not to drink anything unidentified as a part of his constant vigilance campaign, he still drank it all up – the cocoa, and the potion, and everything!"

"And this is bad?" Ron ventured.

"Bad? Bad! Getting betrayed by your best friend is bad! Being attacked by dozen Death Eaters is bad! Finding an adult wild boar at your doorstep in the morning is bad! But this, this is catastrophic!" she screamed.

"I'm sure it's not... quite... that... awful?" he suggested, taking a backwards step away from the girl in hysteria, his experiences with a livid Hermione telling him to get lost as soon as possible, if his life was dear to him. But Lilya had still an iron grip on his arm, and it seemed he was not going anywhere.

"You're sure it's not that awful!?" she screeched. "He proposed to me. And if that's not bad enough, he kissed me! And if that's not bad enough, he tried to do **other** things!!!"

Now Ron couldn't but agree that it was indeed that awful. Catastrophic even. Also, he had a pretty good idea what those **other** things might be, and even thinking about it made him sick.

"Where is he?" he inquired, looking around in alert, half-expecting to see a love-crazed Moody (eek!) storming at them.

"I hit him with a vase," the girl admitted, her tone a bit more sober now, and seeing his incredulous look, added, "Well, what would you have done if Moody was chasing **you** around the table, trying to kiss and do other things to you?"

The only answer he managed to give was a weak guttural sound, which was supposed to express his disgust and horror. And also a bit of awe for the girl who had not only dared to hit Moody with a vase, but had succeeded in it as well.

"We better get out of here," Ron suggested, once he regained his voice, but he had barely managed to say it, when another voice rang out.

"Honey-bunny, where are you? Where did you go, my turtle-dove?"

Ron's eyes went huge with understanding, and a sharp pain shot through his arm, where Lilya had tightened her grip, her mouth open in horror, and whole body shaking in fear.

Now, Ron Weasley might have not been the traditional knight in shining armour, and usually not one to jump headlong into danger to save the damsel in distress (except when the damsel in distress happened to be Hermione). But this time he decided to make an exception, mostly because he realized she was not going to let go of his arm, and if he wanted to get away from love-crazed Moody (oh Merlin!), he had no other idea but to take her with him.

And thus, without further ado, he pulled them both into the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo powder, and spoke as quietly as he dared, in case Moody was close enough to hear,

"The Burrow!"

-----

**REVIEW! **Or I'll send love-crazed Moody (eek!) after you! Muahahahahahhhaaa!


	18. Chapter 18: All That She Wants

**Disclaimer: **None of them, except Lilya, is mine. And "All That She Wants" is a song of_ Ace of Base_. :)

**----- **

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 18: All That She Wants**  
In which Ron and Lilya have their first proper conversation, Ginny has a visitor, Milla executes her brand new plan, and Draco figures things out._

Since most of the Weasleys spent most of their time at the Headquarters, the Burrow was lately rather deserted. They still went there once in a while, either to have a moment for themselves, or to get something they needed. And even though it wasn't a perfect hiding place, Ron hoped Moody hadn't noticed him with her, and wouldn't come looking for them there.

Perhaps it wasn't too safe to stay there longer than necessary, but when the choice was between a dozen Death Eaters and one love-crazed Moody, he was going to pick the former at any time.

"Thanks," Lilya spoke up, reminding him of her presence. She had let go of his arm, and was now looking around the kitchen. Ron couldn't tell whether she approved of what she saw, and he wasn't sure why her opinion mattered to him in the least, but he wished she said something.

"Nice place," the girl spoke as if on cue. "Very cozy. I'll make us some tea, all right?"

He nodded, and watched her search through the cupboards for all things necessary, then boil the water and prepare the tea with the proficiency of one who could do it with eyes closed and hands tied.

And then there was a steaming mug of hot liquid before him, and a pretty girl sitting in front of him. And suddenly, the day didn't feel that bad anymore. Ron frowned at that thought. Of course the day was still as awful as it had been a moment ago. A cup of tea might be very good and calming and whatever, but it was not going to sweep all the bad things out of existence. And the fact that she might have had some qualities that delighted the eye, she was still a stranger to him, and he didn't like her, and she had run into him rather harshly, and it was entirely her fault his arm was still sore. And it was also entirely her fault that he could come face to face with a love-crazed Moody any second now.

From that point of view, his day had definitely gone worse.

Still scowling, he took a sip of his tea. Which was hot. So now he had a burnt tongue to deal with as well. Just when he thought that things couldn't get any worse. Well, at least **now** things couldn't get any…

"Don't say that!" Lilya exclaimed so suddenly that he flinched and spilt some of the very hot tea onto his lap. Figures.

"I wasn't saying anything," he looked at her in confusion, trying to take care of the mess she had caused him to make.

Lilya looked a bit horrified, a bit abashed, and a bit guilty. Which was good. Because it was all her fault!

"But you were thinking it," she answered quietly in a while, taking a sip of her own tea and sending him a rather meaningful look.

"You are a Legilimens?" he asked with surprise once his brain had made the connection. And even if it took a couple of more moments than it should have, the truth was that he did have, and was actually still having a bad day, and couldn't be blamed for thinking a bit more slowly than usual. If anyone was to blame, it was her!

"Yes," Lilya admitted. "And it has proved rather useful in my life."

"You mean you are reading everybody's mind all the time?" Ron exclaimed in horror. He dearly hoped she hadn't been reading his mind while he was having those rather dirty thoughts about Hermione. The ones that involved… no! Must not think about that right now! Must not think about that right now!

"No, of course not!" she said and burst out laughing seeing his obvious discomfort. "First of all, it's better not to wander into someone else's mind – you never know what you could find from there. And second, it would be boring to read everyone's feelings and ideas all the time. It takes all the delight out of conversations and getting to know one another. No, I only use it to see whether people wish any harm upon me."

"Is that why you read my mind? Because you thought I might hurt you?" Ron inquired. It wasn't very nice to find out that the person he had saved from certain doom out of the kindness of his heart (and the fact she had refused to let go of his arm) suspected him of having bad intentions towards her. Sure, he had brought her here, but this was solely for the refuge, not for anything else. He was not going to do anything to her, he wasn't that kind of person. And it actually hurt **him** that she thought he was like that.

Lilya was giving him a contemplative look, and he quickly lowered his eyes, in case she was using her magic on him again.

"I would understand if you did," she said at last. "After all, you were having a bad day and I dragged you into even more trouble. And I didn't do it very gently either."

Ron raised his head and looked into her grey eyes which betrayed nothing of what she was currently thinking or feeling; but one end of her mouth was curved upwards, and it seemed like she was not entirely serious about her words. Still, he couldn't be sure, and thus it was a great relief when she started laughing after another moment; so great relief, in fact, that he joined right in, and so they laughed together for a good while.

"I wasn't all joking, though," she said once she had regained her breath. "I am truly sorry that I took you with me on this thing. It was all my fault, and you had nothing to do with it. Still, I am grateful that you saved me. My very own knight on a white horse."

He blushed, then laughed to cover for it. But when she was still giving him the look he couldn't quite place, he thought he'd better explain a few things.

"Look, you are very nice girl and everything, I'm sure," he said, very aware of his ears still being crimson. "But the thing is… the thing is… I mean, the thing is…"

"That you're dating Hermione?" Lilya decided to help him out. "Oh, I know. The whole Order does. And if you recall what I was saying to you back at the Headquarters, although I'm not sure whether I was making much sense then, you should see that I'm not expecting for anything like that from you."

Ron was relieved again, and tried to remember what had been said back at Grimmauld place.

"You said you had slipped Moody some Love Potion," he recalled. "But you said it was an accident."

Lilya looked like she didn't know whether to be horrified or amused by such an assumption, but in the end she chose the latter.

"Oh, it most definitely was an accident!" she exclaimed. "Don't you start having some dirty thoughts about me and Moody, please."

Ron, who hadn't quite realized what exactly his words had meant, looked horrified now, both for saying such a thing and for the stupid mental images that thought gave him. Merlin help him if she was looking into his mind at that moment – she would surely think him a pervert.

"No, not for Moody," Lilya said with a small smile. "That Amortentia was not meant for him. But it was meant for someone."

He quickly nodded, and searched his memory for the missing piece of information. It had to be there somewhere. She had mentioned cocoa, and hitting Moody with a vase, but that didn't matter at the moment. But she had also mentioned…

"Neville?" he asked, a bit surprised for he hadn't expected that fellow Gryffindor to have girls fighting over him.

"Yes, Neville," Lilya said and rolled her eyes. "And don't look quite that shocked. He's kind, and interesting, and rather hot, too, if you don't mind me saying this."

Ron did mind. A lot actually. It even made him choke on his tea, which was coincidentally rather hot as well, and thus he missed the girl's blush at her own overly daring words.

_That's the first time you are having a conversation with him, and you are already teasing him_, Lilya's mind was screaming at her. _You better stop, girl, before you scare him away completely. He's not even your friend._

But she couldn't quite agree with that last statement. Sure, this was the first proper conversation they were having, but some situations simply made people become friends. And running away from a love-sick Moody was definitely one of those situations.

"But he's dating Bulstrode," he finally found his voice.

"Really? I hadn't noticed," she quipped sarcastically, then added in a serious tone, "Do you think I would have tried to give him Love Potion otherwise?"

Ron shrugged. He wasn't really an expert when it came to such matters.

"But you didn't give him the Potion, did you?" he noted after a moment.

"No," she shook her head. "I didn't. Because it would be wrong."

"Yeah," he concurred, and thought that if it wouldn't be wrong, he could have used that tactic on Hermione a long time ago. Except that he didn't think himself capable of making Amortentia in the first place, and Malfoy probably wouldn't have boiled it for him so that he could use it on his girlfriend. So it was a very good thing Hermione had chosen him on her own, and he didn't have to use illegal, unethical, and impossible means to get her. Yes, a very good thing indeed.

Although, now that he was thinking about Hermione, his thoughts travelled rather automatically to the events of this evening, the events that made this otherwise good day a total disaster.

"You want to talk about it?" Lilya asked, not needing any Legilimency this time to understand that something was bothering him.

"No, not really," he answered, but told her anyway.

The girl listened without interrupting, her expression kindly attentive and sympathetic, giving small nods from time to time to indicate that she was still listening and that she understood him. And even though Ron, like all the other guys, didn't think much of the 'talk it out and you will feel better' theory, he couldn't deny that it did feel a bit easier when he had told her everything.

Lilya was quiet for a while after he had stopped talking, but it was a comfortable silence which Ron did not mind. He was sipping his tea which was not too hot anymore, and thinking that the girl really was rather nice, and a good listener as well. And that Neville must be mad for choosing Bulstrode over her, but that wasn't really his business. Although, he might make a little hint to his former Housemate about it. Just mention it briefly, nothing more. Because he was not going to mess with other people's affairs or play a matchmaker.

"What did he say about it?" she asked at last.

"Who? Harry? He didn't deny it. Well, he did try at first, but later admitted everything," Ron explained darkly.

"Everything?" Lilya raised a brow.

"Yes."

"What exactly did he say?"

"He said that he had slept with her, but what does it matter? Why are you asking this?" he frowned. He didn't like being cross-examined like that, and he especially didn't like taking about this. Well, he had told her about it, but he didn't want to discuss it.

"But he never admitted dumping her afterwards?"

"Well, no, but…" his frown deepened. He was especially disinclined to discuss it and then find out that Harry was not to blame. Because he wanted to blame someone, and Harry **was **the perfect candidate.

"Did you give him the chance to tell his side of the story?"

"There are no sides in this story!" Ron exclaimed angrily. "He defiled my little sister, and that is the end of it."

Lilya didn't argue, but she was not giving up either.

"How old is your sister?" she asked instead.

"She's only seventeen!" he exclaimed.

"So she is of age," Lilya commented, but went on before he could protest. "But that doesn't mean anything, does it? She is still your little sister, and you want to protect her."

"Of course!"

"To protect her from all the evil and horrors of the world. To keep her safe. To keep her happy."

"Yes. I'm her brother, and that's my job!"

"Yes, you're her brother. Her big brother. It's your job to protect her when she is in danger, to help her when she is in trouble, to be there when she needs you, to comfort her when she's feeling bad."

"Yes!" Ron confirmed vehemently.

"Then what are you doing here talking with me? Shouldn't you be with her instead? She has been hurt, and she needs you, doesn't she?" Lilya inquired.

"Yes, but… But we are not that close. I mean, she is my sister and I do love her, and I'm sure she loves me, too, but she tries to be so… independent. Do everything by herself, manage on her own, look after herself. She wouldn't want my help. Besides," Ron added sadly, "I wouldn't know what to say to her."

"Say her that you support her, that you love her, and that you will be always there for her."

"I don't think she would like hearing that from me," Ron argued. "No, I think I'd rather have a serious conversation with Harry…"

"Forget about Harry!" Lilya exclaimed with feeling. "He's not your family. He's not even your friend if he really did what you said he did. But Ginny is your sister. And she is hurting. And she needs someone to comfort her. And if she is as independent as you say she is, she hasn't told anyone else about it. Which means she suffers alone."

"She told Hermione. Hey, perhaps I should send her to talk to Ginny? They are both girls, after all, and they understand each other better, and all that."

"That might work as well," Lilya admitted a bit reluctantly. "Although, if I were Ginny, I would rather have my brother talk to me than someone else."

"Really?" Ron asked in surprise. "Do you have a brother? You must be really close with him then."

"Yes, I do have a brother," she nodded, and there was something wistful about her look. But he didn't pry, and she didn't tell, and things were left at that.

---

McGonagall was giving him an extra strict look. She didn't approve of him being there, but Lupin had given him permission since Moody had disappeared to someplace, and she had no other option but to accept it. Of course, she could send him back, but that would be impolite. They were both part of the Order, and even though she was rather certain he was here not for business but a private matter, there was still respect between them. Besides, times were dark, and people should spend all the time they could with their family and loved ones.

Still, there was little warmth and softness on her face when she told him the conditions. Times were dark, and they needed to be strong, and what's more, they needed to be careful. They couldn't afford to lose any of their numbers, and he might have been just a little bit more important than just anyone.

"One hour," she told him. "You will not leave this room. You will not do anything inappropriate here. I will be back from my evening's rounds in exactly one hour, and if I find anything in my office that might hint to some inappropriate behaviour, the punishment will be harsh for both of you. Do you understand me?"

He nodded, and took a seat in the armchair in front of her desk. He had good view of the portrait of Dumbledore, slumbering peacefully, and he wished with all his heart that one day he could sleep just as peacefully. Or if he couldn't, then at least she would.

There was a knock on the door to the Headmistress' office, and McGonagall called them in.

"Yes, Headmistress?" she sounded a bit worried at having been called at such a late hour.

"Good evening, Miss Weasley," she nodded to her, then turned back to the seemingly empty room since the high back of the armchair hid him from her view.

"Remember, one hour. And no inappropriate behaviour," she admonished, then left the room and closed the door behind her.

Ginny was more than a little puzzled at such turn of events, but she didn't need to be confused for long because he extracted himself from the armchair and stood to face her.

She gasped.

"Harry? What are you doing here? Is something wrong? Is it Voldemort? Is it Ron? Has something happened?"

"No, it's nothing like that," he hurried to explain. "It's not about the war."

"Then what is it?" Ginny demanded, stepping closer to him. "Why are you here? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Harry replied, then let out a short bark of mirthless laughter. "Nothing. Except the fact that Voldemort is still alive, and we have made no progress in weakening him. Except that there is still the war raging on, and people dying around us. Except that Hermione is not what she should be, and Ron wants to kill me. But other than that, everything is fine. Fabulous, really."

"Oh, stop the moaning, Harry," she rolled her eyes. "You know as well as I do that the war is going to end in its own time, and you will not face Voldemort until you are ready for it. So stop ranting about it, and tell me instead why you have come here. And what is wrong with Hermione. And why Ron is trying to kill you."

"What if I came here to see you?" Harry asked instead. "What if I missed you?"

Something flickered in her eyes and for a moment there was some uncertainty on her face, but she suppressed both quickly, and her expression was cool and unfathomable as she looked at him.

He couldn't bear her gaze. Not like this, not like this. Not cold, and hard, and emotionless. No, this was not like the girl he loved. But it was the girl he loved, and he was the only one to blame for her looking like this.

"I'm sorry," he spoke very quietly. But they were alone in the room, and she had no trouble catching his words. "I'm sorry for everything. But most of all, I'm sorry for…"

He stopped there, and looked up from the carpet he had been staring for the last couple of moments.

"What are you most sorry for?" she asked, and no matter how hard she tried, her voice still shook a bit saying that.

Harry found it abnormally hard to continue, though. And the fact that he had started to doubt about saying these things at all didn't help him a bit. Because, wasn't this what he had wanted? Her to hate him. And now she did.

He sighed, and tried again.

"Ginevra, are you happy?"

She gasped again. Very rarely did it happen that he used her full name. But she remembered that last time he had used it. Of course, it would have been rather hard for her to forget, since it had been the happiest moment of her life, which had then been followed by the worst moment of her life.

And now he was standing in front of her, and asking her this, and didn't he know the answer already? Or did he expect her to say it? 'No, Harry Potter, I'm not happy. You used me, and you hurt me, and you broke my heart. Do you expect me to jump around in joy?'

"I'm fine," she lied.

"Ron knows," Harry said abruptly, a bit surprised at it himself for he had not planned saying it like this.

"He knows what?" Ginny asked, caught off guard by his sudden announcement.

"He knows about us," he explained simply. "He knows that I slept with you, and then dumped you, and that I defiled you, like he put it. That's why he's trying to kill me at the moment."

"Can you blame him?" the words had left her mouth before she noticed, and now she wished to take them back with all her heart.

"No, I can't say I can. I have wanted to strangle myself many times for what I did. And if there was no war and no Voldemort, I would probably be in the bottom of some river already."

_No,_ he thought, _If there was no war and no Voldemort, we would still be together and happy._

"Stop that nonsense right now, Harry James Potter," she told him, her voice quiet and dangerous. "Don't you dare say something like this."

"But it's true. I deserve hell and worse for what I did."

"Is that what you regret the most?" she asked, holding back her tears.

He shook his head, and for a moment she was too surprised to start crying. But then the moment passed, and even though she somehow still managed to keep herself together, she felt like he had stabbed her through the heart. Again.

_It's not the night I regret, but my words to you at the morning, _he wanted to say, but didn't. Because, damned, it would be better this way. It was better when she hated him. It would keep her safe.

"About Hermione," Harry said once he managed to speak again, "She is not quite herself. Ever since we found her and brought her back, she has been different."

"Different how?" she inquired, repressing all her hurt and pain and broken heart for now. There would be time to deal with all that later. Now it was time for more important thing. More important than her broken heart.

"Well, think a typical Death Eater. Let's take Lucius Malfoy for instance. Different like that."

"What do you mean?" Ginny had trouble understanding him. If she understood correct, he had just compared Hermione to Lucius Malfoy. Thus, she hadn't understood correct.

"I mean that she is evil. Cruel. Malicious. And everything like that. But that's not the worse about it."

"It's not?" she asked in surprise. Because if this was true, and it had to be because he would not lie to her. He might hurt her, and break her heart, but he would not lie to her. Not about this. But if this was true, and Hermione had changed like that, she couldn't really think of anything worse than this.

"No," he shook his head. "The worst is that she is pretending to be Hermione. And that Ron believes her. And that…"

"And what?" she prompted.

"And, oh Merlin, he believed her when she told him that she loved him."

"What?" Ginny shouted.

"But she doesn't," he continued, ignoring her exclamation, "and she's just using him, but he doesn't see it, and she is going to break his heart or worse."

"Worse?" she asked in horrified whisper.

"The day we found her she used three curses on us," he spoke, his tone void of anything, "_Imperius_ on Ron, _Cruciatus_ on Draco, and _Avada Kedavra_ on me."

This time, Ginny was too horrified to even gasp.

"Well," Harry corrected, "she wanted to use it on me, but Draco pulled her away at the last moment, saving my life."

It took her many minutes to come in terms with such information, and he waited patently, staring into the flames and stealing surreptitious glimpses of her.

"Why is she acting like that?" Ginny asked at last, and he noticed that there was no doubt about his words in her voice. She believed everything he had told her, even after… But that was her mistake – she trusted him, unconditionally. Thus giving him the opportunity to lie to her without being seen through. Because she had trusted him, and even now, she still did.

Harry shook off those memories and morose thoughts, concentrating on the presence and their current conversation.

"It's not a curse, we think," he replied. "We think that she changed herself on purpose to survive living with Zabini, but now that she's back, she can't let it go anymore. It's like she is a completely different person right now, and she can't abandon her new self. I don't know… Perhaps she made herself believe that this is what she is, and now she really believes it. You should see her, Ginny, she really **is** a completely different person."

"By your words it does sound like that," she muttered pensively. "What does the rest of the Order think of it?"

"They don't know," he admitted. "Only the three of us – me, Ron, and Draco – knew at first. But then Draco told Millicent, and she told Neville, and now I've told you. You think I'm wrong keeping it from the rest of the Order? I really hate to have this secret, but we were afraid Moody might do something to her should he found out. Yet now… I don't know. There is still Hermione deep inside that cruel person, I'm sure. But what if she is dangerous? Not to us because we know, but the rest of the Order, and Ron…"

"You think she might hurt him?" she asked quickly.

"I know for sure that she is capable of hurting him, but she probably wouldn't dare to do it. Too risky, and it would blow her cover. But we don't know what she's after, and thus we can't really say how she is going to act."

"I didn't know things were that bad back in the Headquarters."

"Yes," Harry concurred. "They aren't fantastic."

When McGonagall made it back into her office, she found the two youngsters in each other's embrace. It was sweet and innocent, thus she didn't reprimand them, but halted at the door a watched, a small smile on her lips. What she didn't know, though, was that the little sweet embrace was piercing daggers through the hearts of both of its participants, and yet they couldn't have lived without it.

---

When Draco entered Grimmauld Place, he didn't know what to expect. Yet even though he had tried to prepare himself for everything, finding the whole house almost empty still managed to surprise him. Of course, it wasn't entirely empty. Remus Lupin was there, and Molly Weasley, but as it seemed from the first sight, no one else.

A second look, however, revealed two more people, and he was rather glad he had found them, and found them at this exact moment. It looked like Milla was still in a bad mood, and thus keen on cursing others. Her wand was out and pointed, and since he noticed her first upon entering the room, he assumed she was fighting with Harry again.

He assumed wrong, however, as another couple of steps proved him, when he caught sight of the other person, sitting in the armchair with arms crossed, staring at the opponent with a sharp glare, wandless but confident.

"I mean it," Milla warned, sounding determined and dangerous.

"And what is it exactly that you mean?" Astraea asked, raising a brow.

"Don't you dare play innocent with me," she hissed.

The other girl didn't say a thing, which angered Milla even more.

"What is your name?" she demanded furiously.

"I'm Hermione Jane Granger, nice to meet you. What's yours?"

"That's it," Millicent said, sounding very final. "That was your last chance. Now I will…"

"Curse me?" Astraea suggested. "Kill me? Maim me? Torture me? Give me milk and cookies?"

Milla lowered her wand and put it away, answering to her companion's glare with one almost as sharp as hers.

"No," she said after a while, sounding perilously calm. "I declare war on you."

---

"Do you agree with her?" Astraea inquired once Millicent had swept out of the room.

"On what?"

"Do you declare war on me as well?" she asked, standing up from her seat so that she could face him, directing that scalpel look at him now.

"No," Draco admitted, bearing her gaze, his own as gentle as hers was cutting.

She looked him up and down, then concentrated on his eyes again, trying to tear out all the emotion and bare it for her gaze. She had no need to give it such an effort, though, for the second he realized what she was doing, he dropped his mask of calm control, and gave her everything she wanted to see. All the love and pain and concern was there for the whole world to notice, and while Astraea could bear everybody's glares, no matter how intense they were, without any difficulty, she suddenly felt an overpowering desire to look away. But never one to give in to her wayward desires, she held his gaze, bearing the weight it seemed to drop onto her shoulders and suffering the arrows it was piercing through her mind. And she quite suddenly realized two things. First, she had never felt like this before. Second, this was dangerous, and thus must be avoided at all costs in the future.

Quite casually, as if this had been her plan all along and not a retreat from the danger he had thrown her way, she moved around the armchair, turning her back to him, and mentally sighing of relief. But that was all she permitted to herself, for the next moment she went towards him, and came to stand a mere step away, looking straight into his eyes again.

"She is your friend, isn't she?" she asked, making him frown.

It wasn't quite what he had expected from her, not only for it being spoken politely and without any trace of malice or contempt. But he couldn't quite figure out her motive behind such a question either.

Did she suspect there was something more than friendship between him and Milla? But that couldn't be, for everyone knew she was with Neville. And even if this was some secret affair she was hinting to, why would it concern her? Well, it would definitely give her the chance to throw them both into bad light, but that didn't sound right either.

"Yes, she is my friend," Draco replied, hoping she would let something slip about her reasons.

"Then talk her out of this," she demanded silently, leaning even closer to him, and confusing him even more.

"Out of what?" he questioned stupidly.

"Out of the war she has declared upon me," Astraea explained.

"Why?"

"Because," she said, and took a step forward, so that now their faces were inches apart and he could feel her warm breath on his skin. "Because I am Astraea Zabini, and she does not want to war with me."

There was nothing unclear about that message, even though he found it a bit hard to think rationally with her so close to him. But he still understood that this, which sounded very much like a threat, was actually a warning.

She had warned him, and that did not go together with her behaviour this far. Also, she had told him her real name while concealing it from Millicent, and he couldn't place that either. There was another thing that puzzled him, though, and which was much more important in the current situation. And that was the fact that she hadn't moved. She had delivered her warning, but didn't step back and leave the room like he would have guessed. She hadn't looked away either, and that he could understand; yet there was something in the depth of her eyes that he couldn't.

Rational thinking was slipping away from him. In fact, any kind of thinking seemed impossible. They had been inches apart before, but now the distance had lessened even more, and he felt like the smallest move of his lips would bring them in contact with hers. Yet no matter how much he wanted to make that move, he kept himself back, giving her all the initiative and waiting patiently for her to take it. Alright, perhaps not too patiently, but waiting nevertheless.

Minutes passed them, perhaps even hours and days, he couldn't quite tell. As if frozen he stood there, looking into her eyes, and waiting. He doubted he could have moved if he wanted, but he had no desire to do so. There was nothing wrong with this situation, in fact, it was one of the best he had had for a rather long time. It was great, wonderful, fabulous, but Draco had to admit that it was nothing compared to what followed.

Because at one moment his waiting ended. Good things come to those who wait, and for his patience Draco received a little piece of heaven.

Astraea had known a lot of danger in her life, and even though she was not a coward, she knew that jumping headfirst into it wasn't good for surviving. Yet now she was starting to understand why so many people died of carelessness. It wasn't just the stupidity, but the fact that they were weak, and the lure of danger was strong. They were weak, and danger tasted so delicious.

He hadn't noticed when his arms had snaked around her waist nor when hers had slipped into his hair. He hadn't noticed when the kiss had turned from nice and sweet into fiery and passionate and so hot that the heat seemed to consume him. He did notice, however, it being all that, and a lot more, for this was something he hadn't had the chance to do for months.

But now that he did have this golden opportunity, he put into it everything he had to give. All his longing, all his desire, and all his love. He kissed her with fire, and desperation, and love. He gave her everything he could, poured his heart, soul, and mind into it, revealed all his feelings and bared all his wishes. At that moment he was more vulnerable than perhaps ever before, and she held all the cards and control.

She had never felt this powerful over another person before, and power was something Astraea appreciated. It was something she never gave up, and never missed to use for her own good.

It felt another eternity until they finally broke apart, both breathless and spent, and even then they didn't step away from each other, but remained close, their gazes still connected.

Even she felt like some evil enchantment had been placed upon her, rendering her motionless and denying her freedom, and it lasted as long as he held her gaze. But then he looked down suddenly, and without a thought, so did she.

There, in that little space between their bodies, their hands were placed against one another, fingers entwined.

Around his wand.

And she realized the graveness of her mistake, and the weakness of her own mind. She had thought herself so strong, so untouchable, but suddenly she was proven wrong. Because she had recognized the danger but still let it lure her inside. Because it had enticed her with the power, and she had grabbed it, walking straight into the trap. Because someone had managed to trick **her**.

That shocked and horrified her so much she almost would have spoken out her thoughts, and accused him of tricking her. But she managed to collect herself at the last moment, and when she raised her gaze again, her eyes were void and cold.

For a little more they stood there like this, their fingers entwined around his wand, and their gazes locked once again, before she loosened her grip and pulled away.

Her hand was on the doorknob when he asked the question. She wasn't running away. She wasn't. She simply walked away with dignity and head held high for there was nothing more she could do here.

"Why what?" she inquired.

"Why did you warn me?"

"Because," she said, and looked at him over her shoulder for it would have been a sign of weakness not to, "I don't need another war right now."

---

Physically, Astraea was walking down the hallway, looking as if nothing unusual had happened to her. Mentally, she was pressing herself against a wall and breathing heavily.

No, that had not gone well. And now that she was already analyzing her mistakes, she couldn't but admit that the idea of using the kiss to steal his wand had occurred to her only towards the end of it, when she realized the extent of the power over him he was giving to her, and understood she had to grab the opportunity. But the first part of it had almost made **her** lose control, and now she suddenly wished she hadn't regained it at all. Because then she wouldn't have admonished herself for giving in to her rebellious desires, and wouldn't have started to look a way out of it.

Kissing someone because she wanted to was a sign of weakness. Kissing someone because it helped her execute her plan was the correct thing to do. But kissing someone because she wanted to and upon realizing this quickly designing it into a plan to hide her weaknesses and then getting caught as well – that was preposterous.

Especially the part of getting caught, otherwise it would have been acceptable. But she had been caught, and thus revealed her plan to those who were not supposed to know it. Astraea was aware of the contemplative look Milla often gave her these days, and she knew the other girl was trying to figure out her plans. She also knew that this far she hadn't managed, and that was crucial. Yet now she had given herself away, and he was smart enough to put the two and two together, and figure everything out.

Which meant only one thing, other than her having been stupid – she had to act fast. Astraea didn't like to hurry with her plans, she liked to carry them out at the precise moment with the precise accuracy. And she was still going to do exactly that, as it was the only way to achieve the highest probability of her plans going the way they should, only now she had to move that precise moment a little closer to present.

Still, she was going to do it, and do it right, and this time she was not going to fail.

---

It was nothing more than pure luck on his side, and misfortune on hers, that he had managed to foil her plan. He never noticed that she had reached for his wand, but he had felt her hand, and grabbed it almost automatically. In fact, he was unaware of the wand between their entwined fingers until they had broken apart and he had looked down.

Now he knew why she had kissed him in the first place, and even though he hadn't expected her to, or expected anything of it, or at least convinced himself of having no expectations, it still hurt.

But that didn't matter. What mattered was that she had given him a very important clue, unintentionally of course, as he had noticed her moment of horror at being caught.

Millicent's question of what Astraea wanted was very close to receiving an answer. She wanted his wand. He understood perfectly why she would want a wand, but there was a catch – it would have been much easier to steal someone else's wand. Ron was the first name that came to his mind. Or anyone else really who didn't know of her condition, which meant almost the whole of Order. She could have simply asked Molly Weasley to let her borrow the woman's wand, as she had left her own upstairs. And Molly would have smiled and given it to her. Besides, he was rather certain that Ron had given her her own wand back, now that they were together.

So she had a wand, or could obtain it rather easily from a great number of persons. Yet she wanted his wand. His wand. He who knew her real identity. Of course, his wand probably wasn't the hardest for her to steal, since she had managed it rather fine until a blind coincidence decided to help him. There were others who knew her game. Milla, and Neville, and Harry, of course.

Wait a second. Harry…

And then the realization hit him. It was so simple, so elementary that he gave himself a mental slap for not thinking of it before. Of course! That was it.

She didn't want revenge, she didn't do it for her own malicious pleasure. All she wanted was freedom.

They – him, Harry, and Ron – had bound her to this house, and the spell could be taken down only by either those people who cast it, or by those wands through which it had been cast.

She had seduced Ron to have him remove his part of the charm. She had tried to steal his wand to take down the second magical fiber that kept her here. Then she would have only needed either Potter or his wand, and she would have been free.

And the whole Harry and Ginny thing was either to weaken Harry's resistance or keep him away from Ron and from putting doubts about her into his mind. Probably both.

Suddenly everything fell into place. All Astraea wanted was freedom.

All she wanted was freedom.

-----

**Note: **Harry is an idiot, isn't he? **REVIEW**


	19. Chapter 19: Interesting Proposition

**Note: **My beta is ill so this chapter is quite unbetaed. I truly hope I didn't make too many mistakes. :)

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**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter.

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**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 19: Interesting Proposition**  
In which Harry calls a meeting to discuss something serious, a jug of pumpkin juice plays an important part, Draco keeps quiet, and Astraea makes an interesting proposition._

One day Kingsley Shacklebolt and Hestia Jones went out on a mission to gather information about a suspected Death Eaters' residence and never returned. The next evening Draco painted the floor and walls of the hallway red with his blood, narrowly escaping death. The Order was still in grieving, and Draco still recovering from his wounds when Moody had an one-to-one conversation with Harry.

After that, as soon as Draco was released from the Hospital Room, Harry called a little meeting of his own. It only involved three people, including himself, and took place in Draco's apartment, which suddenly struck as a safer place than Grimmauld.

"We have a problem," Harry spoke grimly.

"She's not a spy," Draco answered at once.

"No, but… why do you think there's a spy in the Order?"

"After almost getting killed I thought I'd deserve some credit."

He had said it with some amusement, but Harry clearly wasn't in the mood.

"Credit? You want credit?" he barely managed to keep himself from screaming. "Look around you, Malfoy! You are one of the very few people I can trust in the present situation. How's that for some credit to you?"

"I wondered why you only invited us," Draco shrugged, ignoring Harry's burst of anger, and trying to ignore the meaning of his words; for now, at least. Because if he started thinking about the complete trust Potter had placed on him for some strange reason, he might get the urge to reciprocate it, and that would simply not do. "What about Weasley?"

"Ron is a liability," Harry answered, looking like he would have rather battled a dozen Death Eaters than said that. "Besides, he's after my throat at the moment, and blaming his girlfriend for being a spy… well, he wouldn't take it too well."

"She's not a spy," Draco said again with utmost certainty.

"She could be," Harry argued.

"She's not."

"Look, I know that you still… have feelings for her, but we must be realistic. She's not the person she was before. She's evil."

"I am being realistic, Potter," Draco growled, not happy with the mention of his feelings and how they might cloud his capacity of judgement, or the fact that they probably did. "She can't be a spy for the Death Eaters because she can't leave the house. Or have you forgotten about that little spell we cast upon her?"

By the surprised look on his face, Harry had indeed forgotten all about that. Still, he tried to defend his idea.

"She has probably managed to convince Ron to take it down."

"Think back, Potter. Recall why we picked that particular spell."

"Because it can be taken down only by the three people or the three wands it was cast from. Right," he said and paused, seemingly having run out of arguments.

"What about owls?" Neville questioned, adding his five Knuts to the discussion. "I know it is dangerous, but the Order does not check its outgoing mail, does it?"

"It does check the owls," Harry spoke slowly, thinking. "But there are other ways to send a message."

"It doesn't matter," Draco gritted through his teeth. "She is not a spy."

"How can you be so sure?"

"She is not a spy for the same reason she is not a Death Eater."

"But Voldemort doesn't have to know about this," Harry mused, "she might contact Zabini, and he in turn tell Voldemort."

Draco glared at him. Arguing further seemed useless, since he actually didn't have the solid proof Potter demanded. He just had some weaker clues, and a very strong hunch. And no, his capacity of judgement was not clouded by his feelings for her. At least he hoped so.

"Fine," he relented at last. "Let's put her into our mental list of suspects. But she's not the only one there."

"Yes, there are others," Harry agreed, a bit surprised at Malfoy giving up just like that.

"Milla," Draco spoke.

"What?" came the exclamation from Neville, followed by a blush, which was more of anger than embarrassment.

"She's your friend! How can you suspect her?"

"And she's your girlfriend," Draco said meaningfully. "But I don't suspect her. Potter does. Otherwise he would have invited her to our little get-together as well."

"Neville," Harry turned to his friend. "I'm sorry. I know that you like her, but I have to consider every possibility. And as one of those to join the Order just recently…"

"Why does the spy have to be a new member?" he argued fiercely. "It could just as well be one of the old ones."

"Our leak of information is recent," Harry explained patiently.

"So? The spy might have been quiet so far, trying to earn our trust. Or perhaps Voldemort managed to pay them off only now."

"Who would you accuse? Moody? Lupin? Mr. Weasley?"

Neville was quiet.

"It could be the other girl instead," Draco offered. "Leila Dooley or whatever her name is."

"Lilya Doonlen," Neville corrected automatically. "And she can't be the spy either."

"Because she's your friend? That doesn't prove anything."

"Look, I know her. We have been friends for quite a long time. I know she would never do anything like that. She's a good person."

"You are way too gullible, Longbottom," Draco let out a wry laugh. "That's the trouble with Gryffindors, they're way too trusting. And that will be their doom in the end."

Harry didn't say a word in defence of his House, for he couldn't quite argue with Malfoy when he was right. Well, he could argue, but that would be inappropriate childish behaviour that for once they should be able to do without.

But Neville jumped to his feet and glared at the Slytherin.

"You know what I think, Malfoy?" he fumed. "I think you are the spy. That's why you try to blame everyone else – so that we would look at anyone but you."

"That's an interesting theory, actually," Draco drawled, looking every bit as comfortable as before, doing nothing to alleviate Neville's fury. "Perhaps you are too trusting as well, Potter? Being a Gryffindor and all?"

"You can't be a spy," Harry said simply, with utmost conviction that shocked both his companions.

"Why not?" Neville demanded.

"_Exsecratio debilis_," was his only reply, accompanied by a small sad smile.

Draco sharply turned away his head and swallowed with difficulty. Potter was right, of course. Even if he had been a spy and seduced Hermione only for business purposes, he wouldn't have been able to keep it that way. Because the Curse of the Weak wasn't just any love – it was a love stronger than anything else, with complete devotion, readiness of sacrifice, connection of mind and soul, or something like that anyway. But the point was that it couldn't have happened were he secretly fighting against her, betraying if not specifically her but at least her friends and kin.

In fact, the Curse of the Weak was a stronger proof than any amount of Veritaserum or Legilimency of his loyalty to the Order. Funny how he had never seen it from that side.

"Milla told me," Neville said carefully, remembering her words of warning about touching that subject in front of Malfoy. But he needed to say something, and the need overran all the caution. "But she also told me that the Curse is no more."

"Not for my part," Draco mumbled under his breath, and Harry sent him a look of concern.

As the horribly awkward silence took hold of them, Neville suddenly wished he had taken Milla's advice. Especially with the look Harry was now sending his way. It wasn't accusatory, no, but it still conveyed the idea that he should either apologize or say something consoling, only this time Neville was smart enough to keep his mouth shut. He had no idea how to comfort Malfoy, but he had a pretty good idea how wrong things might go.

"I'd say I wasn't a spy because the information leak almost got me killed," Draco finally spoke, sounding more or less normal, "but then you would point out that it would be a marvellous idea to pledge my innocence."

Harry snorted. Just like with the Weasley twins, Malfoy and innocence simply did not go together.

"So in the end it is just a matter of trust," he ended, narrowing his eyes at the amused look on Harry's face.

"So you are saying we have to trust you, but can't trust Milla?" Neville demanded, all his fury returning.

"I'm not saying that," Draco gave him the you-are-an-idiot glare. "I do trust Millicent. And you're actually right, Longbottom, it doesn't have to be one of the newest members. It could be one of the Weasleys, Dark Lord might have promised him lots of money or something – shut up, Potter – it could be Lupin, deciding to join or perhaps having always been on the side of his little rodent friend – shut up, Potter – it could be Moody, finally getting tired of us all and planning to take over the world. It could be one of the others, tempted, seduced, or under Imperius. It could be anyone, actually."

"It's not Lupin," Harry frowned. "It's not Moody, and it's not any Weasley."

"Fine, but it can be still anyone save the Werewolf, Halfnose, and Freckled Ones."

"And Milla," Neville stated firmly.

"And Milla."

Harry scowled.

"And the conclusion of this meeting is that we don't know who it is, and if we want to survive, we must be extra careful. Constant vigilance, as Halfnose says."

"Do you call him so to his face as well?" Harry wondered.

"I'm not stupid, Potter."

"Right," said Harry, not sounding very convinced.

Neville gazed from one to another. Who would have guessed that these two would ever end up as friends? Then again, stranger things had happened. His girlfriend, for example.

---

Those public dinners had been Harry's favourite part of the day – when all the Weasleys, and several other members of the Order who were currently at the Headquarters would all gather together at the kitchen table, have their meals, and chat with everyone, usually about pleasant things. There would be a lot of noise, and a lot of laughter, and the true feeling of unity and family.

Now he hated them. And not just because almost any of those people sitting at the same table, talking and laughing with him might be Voldemort's spy. Taking a sip of his pumpkin juice, Harry turned his head towards his two best friends. She was leaning towards him in a loving manner, and he occasionally brushed a few wayward curls off her face. They were talking and laughing and looking like a perfect image of what made older people sigh, and shake their heads, and say things like 'oh, young love'.

Turning back to his food, Harry suddenly didn't feel hungry any more. Taking a brief glance round the room and noticing with relief that no one was paying him much attention, he pushed his plate away, rested his elbows on the table, and fell in thought.

Well, he knew he wasn't the only one hating these joint meals. Malfoy wasn't very keen on them either, although he always took part. Probably to keep his eye on Astraea, and that he could understand. He sometimes marvelled at how calmly he acted seeing the love of his life kiss and cuddle with another, but then again, Malfoy seldom lost his temper. Also, that was not the main reason the Slytherin hated such dinners. The main reason was Molly Weasley.

Caring, warm, and sympathetic, the woman was a mother to them all, and she could see, or at least thought she could see Draco's pain, and tried to be extra gentle towards him, asking after him and his doings, and occasionally throwing in pieces of badly masked romantic advice. Malfoy usually ignored all those 'there are many nice girls in the world' and 'time will heal all wounds' and 'you just have to be patient, darling', and Harry tried his best not to snort at his desperate irritated expression.

Then there was this other thing concerning Weasleys he needed to think about. He had expected Ron to round up all his brothers (he had a lot of them), and ambush him as soon as he set his foot back to Grimmauld Place. But none of that had happened, and he hadn't even received death glares from any of them, meaning that for whatever reason, Ron had kept that little piece of news to himself. For the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out why. And he wasn't able to do this now either because someone poked him into the shoulder.

"What?" he turned towards the smiling face of Charlie.

"The juice, Harry," he grinned good-naturedly. "Daydreaming or too much food?"

Harry answered with a sheepish smile, and reached for the jug of pumpkin juice. The empty jug of pumpkin juice, as it came out.

"Oi, we are out of juice!" George cried from two seats away.

"There's more in the pantry," Molly said, giving her son a look that told him to go get it.

"Yes, Mum," George saluted, stood up, and turned to Harry.

"Pass me the jug, Harrykins."

As he was about to comply, there was the flash of something in George's eyes, something that made Harry wary. He didn't have much time, though, since the twin was advancing on him, and looking around quickly in search of an escape, his gaze landed on Neville sitting next to him.

"Neville, go get more juice," he said quickly, pushing the jug into his hands. The boy blinked a few times in confusion, then stood up and walked away, leaving behind a disappointed George and a relieved Harry.

He barely managed to brush the incident away from his mind, when another shout cut through his thoughts.

"Here, Neville!" Ron had yelled, holding his goblet above his head. Molly sent another glare, but Ron missed it, and Neville didn't seem to mind. He made his way to Ron and poured him the juice, then turned to Hermione.

"Do you want some, too, Hermione?"

She seemed to be considering it, but when Ron took a sip of his and made an approving sound, she gave a small nod and held up her own goblet.

Once Neville had gone round the table answering all the calls, and Molly had sent out several more disapproving looks, the jug was finally returned to its proper place, and Neville could get back to his dinner, and Harry to his ponderings.

Or so he thought.

"Hermione," someone spoke, and Harry would have ignored it completely if not for the words that followed, "do you love Ron?"

Half the table fell suddenly quiet, either shocked at the unexpected question or in anticipation of the answer. He looked up to see who had said it in the first place, and upon noticing the slightly triumphant look in Millicent's eyes, alarm bells went off in his head. This was no good, whatever it was.

Turning his head to glance at Astraea, he noticed she was looking rather smug as well. This was bad.

"No."

Molly gasped. Ron's jaw was hanging open. Draco had an expression of shock, which quickly turned to understanding, which quickly turned to horror, which quickly turned to blank. Neville looked especially guilty for some reason. Millicent was smiling. And Astraea looked murderous.

"No?" Milla faked surprise. "But then why are you wi—"

She didn't get the chance to finish. Before anyone could stop her, Astraea had leapt to her feet, and hurled her goblet straight at Milla, where it hit her on the forehead and knocked her off the seat.

What followed was chaos. Those who had overcome their shock were either yelling, or jumping to their feet, or trying to calm everybody down with little success. Neville had run to her girlfriend, who was bleeding and clutching his arm, intent on telling him something that was lost in the overall noise.

With the clatter of the jug of juice suddenly falling to the floor, no one noticed Draco drag Hermione out of the room.

---

"What do you think you are doing?" were the first words out of her mouth once they had reached her room, and he let go of her.

"You looked like you wanted away," Draco shrugged.

"And why would you think I wanted away?" Astraea hissed.

"Because the juice was Veritaserumed, and if anyone asked you why you did it, you could have told only the truth."

"Get out!" she screamed, drawing her wand.

"You wouldn't curse me."

"_Colloportus_."

"Good move," Draco nodded. "Now you just have to wait until the effect wears off. You'd probably want to Silence me as well."

"_Silen—_"

"_Expelliarmus_."

"Weasley's wand?" Draco asked, twirling it between his fingers.

"Yes," she pressed through her teeth, trying and failing not to answer.

"I thought so."

They stood in silence, she trying to kill him with her glare, and he bearing it with a cool expression. In the end, it was Draco who tired of this, and taking a few steps, he took a seat on her bed.

"Make yourself comfortable, Astraea, it's going to be a couple of hours."

But she remained standing and staring.

"Suit yourself."

---

Approximately 12 minutes later someone knocked on the door. Draco Silenced the room, and raised his brow at Astraea, who was standing at the same place in the same position giving him the very same look.

---

After another 5 minutes Harry spelled the door open, and peeked into the room.

"Tell them to leave us alone," Draco commanded.

Harry gave a curt nod, and left.

---

Exactly one hour later Astraea left her spot and moved to gaze out of the window instead. She was not one bit happy with the situation, although right now she was more confused than angry.

She had been angry before, mostly at herself, though, for falling in the trap, and then losing her temper like that. She had panicked and thrown the goblet at Millicent, and while it had indeed worked, she now had a lot to explain. She could have done it some other way, she was sure, for example with the help of some sly spell cast under the table. But she had panicked and hurled the cup, she had panicked and let Malfoy drag him here, she had panicked and got herself disarmed.

But with the minutes ticking by, her anger had been substituted with confusion. He had dragged her here, he had disarmed her, yet the only thing he had asked her was _"Weasley's wand?"_ It didn't make any sense! He had the perfect opportunity, the best chance to question her, but he didn't take it. In fact, he didn't talk at all. He just sat there, on her bed, and observed her.

And Astraea, who could bear a _Crucio_ without making a sound and fight an _Imperio _without too much trouble, couldn't stop the uncomfortable tingling of her skin under his intent stare.

She had been there far too long – the house was weighing down her. She had to get out before it was too late. She had to get away before she would lose herself.

And then there was this other thing.

She wanted him. Ever since that stupid mistake of a kiss over a week ago, she had wanted him. It was lust, not love, but it was there, and it was dangerous. Because he was dangerous. She wondered whether he knew that he was probably the only person in the whole wide world with some kind of power over her.

She detested him because of that. And still wanted.

Perhaps she could use it somehow. He now knew that she wanted his wand, and that she needed it to flee this place, but perhaps he still wouldn't push her away. He loved her, after all.

And now, thanks to Milla who would get what she deserved for starting a war with her, Ron knew she didn't love him. How on earth was she going to deal with that? Apologize, kiss, cry. Seduce him if necessary. Obliviate him if nothing else helped? No, too dangerous. Ramble about confusion, and torture, and fear, and something about not being ready for love yet. And cry a lot. Yes, that would do.

---

Two hours after the incident Astraea was brushing her hair. Thanks to having a wand now, well, not at the moment, but generally, it was sleek and black once again. If she had to thank Blaise for anything, other than the survival skills, that is, then it would be for this spell. A spell that actually made her hair the way she wanted it to be, and not the way it wanted to be. And stayed for days.

Putting the brush away, she sent her reflection a scowl, and went to reach her wand. Which, of course, wasn't there. All right, she could either ask nicely or do without. Gracing the mirror with another scowl, she walked up to her wardrobe, giving its contents a critical look before fishing out something dark and smooth.

She was not going to leave this room today. She had no wish to go down and face everybody and explain them everything. She needed to talk to Ron first, anyway. And he would probably come running to her as soon as she allowed.

Tossing the garment over the door of the wardrobe, Astraea started to undress, smirking at the gasp he failed to repress and feeling his eyes upon her the whole time. Again, it bothered her, but she concentrated on the task lying ahead of her, and tried to ignore the present. To some extent, at least, because tuning it out completely would have been perilous. She had to control the situation, any situation, and for that she had to be aware of it. If he directed his wand at her and cast an _Avada Kedavra_, she would manage to jump out of the way.

Now donning the midnight blue nightgown, she shut the wardrobe doors, and turned towards her bed and its occupant, whose expression had become pensive and distant. But she was sure he was very much aware of the present as well.

And she was right, for the next moment he looked her in the eye.

"It's not even nine yet."

"Who says I'm going to sleep?" she answered with fake sweetness. "Or that I'm going to sleep tonight at all?"

"You should. Rough day tomorrow."

She sharpened her look, but didn't question what he had meant by that. Instead, she said something completely else.

"Ask me something."

He gave her a calculative look, and she wondered whether this had been a mistake. If so, she was making rather many of them lately.

"When was the first time you wore that?" he asked, pointing to her nightie.

"The first and only time I made love to you."

Okay, that did answer her question about the effects of the Veritaserum. It didn't alleviate her confusion about him asking nothing substantial from her.

"You still have to wait," Draco remarked.

And so she waited.

---

Three hours and forty-seven minutes.

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

"It's over," he said, rose from her bed and stretched himself, then opened the door, and tossed her the wand. "Want me to fetch Weasley for you?"

Astraea glared at him, not very pleased with her plans being exposed once again.

"No. Get me Potter."

Draco raised a brow.

"I doubt he'll fall for your womanly wiles."

She tilted her head and smirked.

"I can have anyone I want."

"Well, that's good for you," he said with a genuine smile. "One Potter coming up right away."

---

"She wants to see **me**?"

"I offered to get her Weasley, but she insisted on Potter."

"That's not funny, Malfoy."

"She might try to seduce you."

"Not. Funny."

"How unfortunate for you then that I'm not joking."

Harry glared at him.

"Oh, and she has Weasley's wand, although I doubt she is going to curse you. Then again, better safe than sorry."

"Malfoy! You're not sounding very reassuring at the moment."

"I didn't intend to," Draco rolled his eyes at a slightly hysterical Potter. Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned the seduction part, but then he might have received a shock would she actually try that.

"You're pathetic, Potter. Go on and see what she wants. Or do you want me to accompany you for safety?"

"Sod off, Draco."

"My pleasure, _Harry_."

---

"Potter."

"Zabini."

"Don't call me that," she narrowed her eyes on him.

"Oh? I thought that was your name," Harry replied coldly. "What do you want me to call you then?"

"Astraea is fine."

"Astraea," he repeated.

"Potter."

"Why am I here?"

She was sitting on her bed with the wand nowhere in sight, which made Harry only tigthen the grip on his. Her expression was cold and she didn't look like she was going to try to seduce him, even though he couldn't deny she was beautiful in a dark kind of way. Dark, definitely dark. She was not playing innocent for him any more. Of course, admitting her name was already a proof of it, and Harry had a feeling she had asked him there to lay her cards on the table. He was about right.

"I have a proposition for you."

"I'm listening."

"You don't want me near Ron," she said, and it was not a question.

Harry regarded her for a moment, trying to read anything from her eyes or expression. There was none, yet he still got her point.

"What do you want?"

"Freedom."

"Freedom?" Harry asked, clearly surprised.

"Yes. I want you to undo your part of the spell keeping me to this house."

"You mean that Ron and Malfoy have already…"

"Ron has."

"But you still need Malfoy to take down the third cord of magic."

"Yes," Astraea stated without any further elaboration.

"We can't let you go. You know too much about the Order."

"Not that much more than before."

"Still."

Astraea gave a small nod, and Harry was almost shocked at her giving up so easily, but when she opened her mouth again, he realized the conversation wasn't finished yet.

"I will take an Unbreakable Vow."

"What?" Now he was truly shocked.

"I will take an Unbreakable Vow to never disclose any potentially harmful information about the Order to anyone who isn't part of it."

"You're lying," Harry gasped, his shock growing even more. He wasn't very keen on Unbreakable Vows, but he could see that with taking one she would put herself under their power at least to some extent, and that it could prove very dangerous to her.

If she wasn't going to sell them out to Voldemort, why on earth would she wish to leave this place so badly?

"Three days, Potter," she dismissed him. "Think about it. But now, get out of my room."

-----

**Note #2: **I hope you liked it. :) **REVIEW **and tell me. Constructive criticism very much appreciated.


	20. Chapter 20: Three Till Midnight

**A/N: **Now, this chapter jumps around like a hyperactive kangaroo, I hope you won't mind too much. But I do love the last sentence. Let me know whether you love it, too. ;)

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**Disclaimer: **Don't own them, don't want them, don't need them.

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**Everything To Lose**

**_Chapter 20: Three Till Midnight_**  
_In which Ron and Lilya have tea and biscuits, Draco vetoes Astraea's suggestion, and Milla lets Neville go._

"Still breathing, my little warrior princess?"

Milla snapped her head around, and her expression morphed into one of white rage.

"What?" Draco raised his brow. "I've called you worse. And it wasn't an insult."

"I don't give a damn what you call me, Draco Malfoy!" Milla jumped up and advanced on him, seething with fury. "You had no right to do what you did before."

"What did I do?"

"Don't play an innocent, Draco, it doesn't suit you," she hissed. "Why did you take her away? Why didn't you let us talk to her? It would have given us everything we wanted."

"No, it would have given you what you wanted," he corrected, and slumped down to the armchair she had just vacated. "You got angry for not being able to figure out her plans, and therefore declared war on her. Then, by pure luck, the solution presented itself to me, and in your jealousy you struck out at her despite my warnings and pleadings not to do it. You wanted to show her, no matter what the cost."

"You're delusional," Millicent growled. "I simply saw her weakness in not wishing to war with me, and took advantage of it. And it worked. And if you hadn't dragged her away, all our problems would be solved by now."

"Don't be an idiot, Milla," he snapped at her. "Do you have any idea what would have happened if she had spoken truth to half of the Order?"

"Yes! I think it's time they knew. I think it's better for everybody."

"You think it's better to have Moody interrogate her and then lock her up in the basement, or send to Azkaban? Because that's what he would do, if he knew. And do you have any idea what it would do to the Order? It would split it into two – those on her side rebelling against Moody, and those thinking it is for the best. And before we know, we would have a civil war in our hands, and then Voldemort would be able to crush us once and for all."

She looked a bit doubtful, but also horrified at such prospects.

"Besides," Draco continued. "I have no idea what Voldemort would do with the information about Hermione, but it would definitely be something foul and ugly."

"How would he… you mean… there's a spy in the Order?"

"We have reasons to believe that," he frowned. "But don't tell anyone, it's confidential."

"Why are you telling me then? So I wouldn't skin you for messing up my opening move?"

"Because I trust you. And because then I can tell you how chivalrously Longbottom acted on defending your honour."

"Really?" Milla inquired with a smile, which soon turned into a confused frown. "But why would he need to defend my honour?"

"Because you're on the list of possible suspects as well," Draco smirked at her.

"Moody suspects me?"

He shrugged.

"Don't know about Old Halfnose, but Young Scarface does."

"Potter suspects me?" she spat.

"Relax, it's nothing personal. He suspects Hermione and that other girl as well, the one who joined at the same time you did. And in conclusion, it can be actually almost anyone of the Order."

"So Potter suspects me," Milla repeated, sitting down onto the carpet. "Can't blame him, I suppose. Never hurts to be careful."

"Aww, did big bad Harry Potter hurt the feelings of sweet little Millie?"

"What?" she woke up from her musings. "No, not at all. In fact, my opinion of him rose a couple of notches. No, I was just contemplating my next move."

"Don't you think you should give up with your personal war?" Draco frowned.

"Can't stop the snowball once it's already rolling. Things are already set in motion. She will retaliate, and I have to answer."

"What if I talk her out of this?"

"Don't be silly, Draco. You couldn't talk me out of this, and you most certainly can't convince her. I've heard that you never managed to change her mind before, and now you have even less power over her. You are nothing to her now, Draco, nothing but just a tool to get what she wants."

Those words cut deeper than he would have ever admitted, and deeper than she had intended. He knew why she had said it – to justify her own little war, and lure him over to her side. But she didn't know the details of Draco finding out about Astraea's plans, and she didn't know what her words reminded him of. And then of course the little fact that she was right. At least about the tool part. However, he still thought he might be able to convince her that not warring with Millicent would be the shortest way to freedom.

"Don't even bother trying," he replied, "I will never fight against her."

"She doesn't want or need your protection," Milla scoffed.

"Nevertheless, she has it."

---

Ron closed the door behind him and rested against it. Fate didn't seem to favour him lately. Like the whole finding out about Harry and Ginny hadn't been enough, there was all this fiasco of tonight.

It had happened hours ago, but those hours had passed far too quickly, and at the same time, damn too slowly. He never knew how the things had worked out in the kitchen, for as soon as his shock allowed it, he had removed himself from the table and retreated into his room. Many times he had started off to see Hermione, but had always stopped before reaching his door. And then Harry had popped in, and informed him that she didn't want to be bothered at the moment. And then he had stood at the threshold for a couple of moments, shifted on his feet, and looked guilty. But Ron had simply ignored him, and he had left without another word.

He realized Harry could have given him some sort of explanation for what had taken place, he had seen from his expression that he knew more than he said, but he didn't want to talk to Harry, and he didn't want an explanation. And when he thought about it, he didn't even want to talk to Hermione.

But he did want to talk to someone.

A knock sounded on the door and he stepped back to open it.

"Tea?" Lilya smiled to him, raising the tray with a teapot, two cups, and a large plate piled with biscuits she was carrying. He moved aside to let her pass, and when he shut the door this time, there was a small smile on his lips as well.

Merlin be thanked. And Charlie, who took his question of 'Have you seen Lilya?' the correct way without further inquires or any kind of grins.

"Want to talk about it?" she asked, once they had made themselves comfortable on his bed – that is, after he had blushed a bit, and she had waved her wand to clean up the mess his room had been before – with the plate of biscuits between them, and each holding a cup of hot tea.

"You were there," Ron shrugged, but told her anyway.

For a while they talked about it, him ranting a bit how he had never been good enough for Hermione, that he was too poor, too stupid, and too freckled, until Lilya finally snapped and told him that if she didn't want him, she was the stupid one. That remark had been followed by a lot of blushing from either side, an awkward silence, and then a swift change of topic.

"So, how are the things with you and Moody?"

"He asked me to his office," she replied, looking a bit green in the face thinking back to the most horrible ten minutes of her life. Well, except those three minutes when he had been under the influence of the potion and chasing her around the kitchen table.

"What did he do to you?" Ron asked with a mix of horror and curiosity.

"He forced me to marry him."

Now it was his turn to become green, although he was too shocked to even throw up.

For several long moments she stared at him with seriousness and misery, until she couldn't take his expression any longer and burst into laughing.

She was still laughing when Ron finally managed to put together a sentence and speak it.

"You are evil."

She only laughed harder, and eventually, he joined her.

"You do know that you are laughing at yourself, do you?" Lilya remarked after a while, brushing tears from her eyes.

"Actually, I was picturing you and Moody standing before the altar…"

"And you call **me** evil!" she scowled at him, observing his expression turn from mirthful to anxious to apologetic. Only when he had reached misery did she unleash her suppressed laughter.

"Sometimes you act like a Slytherin," Ron frowned, once her laughter had subdued enough for his voice to be heard.

"Dumstrang isn't known for its inclination towards Dark Arts for nothing," she winked, then sobered, "Alright, alright, I promise I won't tease or trick you anymore. For today, that is."

"It's three hours till midnight," he informed her.

"That much? Damn," she swore, her eyes twinkling in joy. "In that case, tell me something serious, otherwise I might not manage."

Ron shifted nervously. He had managed to do his fair share of thinking during those couple of hours before she had shown up with the tea, and a plan had popped into his mind. Which had actually been the real reason he had wanted to see her, but now that she was there in front of him, and they had spent the last hour laughing and teasing each other, he had changed his mind about it. Yet now she was specifically asking him for something serious, and the idea came back and refused to leave.

"You are a Legilimens, right?" he started carefully.

"You know I am," Lilya frowned, confused.

"You can look into people's minds, right?" he avoided her gaze.

"Yes," she spoke gravely.

"Could you… I mean, would you… If you don't mind that is… Just so that… Or is it a bad idea?" he looked at her now, doubt and hesitation written all over his face.

"I think it's a bad idea not to tell me what you are talking about."

Ron blushed and looked away, getting more and more certain by moment that this was a really bad idea and he should have kept his mouth shut in the first place.

"Never mind, forget it," he muttered under his breath.

But it was too late for him to back away, for Lilya, the smart girl she was, had already put the two and two together, and caught the meaning behind his gibberish.

"Alright," she said, accepting the task, and he breathed in relief, happy that she was willing to let it go without any questions.

"Well, now that this is settled, and we still have two hours and fifty-four minutes till midnight, how about a bed-time story?"

"A what?" Ron looked up, surprised.

"A bed-time story," she smiled. "Tell me something. With all that Neville has mentioned about you and your adventures at school, I'm sure you've got hundreds of stories to tell."

"You want to hear a story about me and Hermione and Harry?" he asked, his voice quivering a bit on the last two names.

"Or something about your childhood," Lilya hurried to add, noticing his look of discomfort.

"There's nothing much to tell…" he began, but she cut him off.

"Really?" she raised a brow. "Because Fred and George did mention something about spiders…"

"I remember one!" Ron announced, his ears assuming the colour of setting sun.

"Then don't keep me waiting. Otherwise I'll just have to go and find one of your brothers."

"You promised not to tease me today," he reminded her.

"Oh, but I wasn't teasing you," she smiled sweetly. "I was threatening you."

---

It was Neville who found Harry sitting in the rather smallish Library Room, staring into the darkness, and frowning. He hadn't even been looking for him, and he wasn't especially glad about it either, mostly because it entailed him lying sprawled out on the floor, having walked straight into the chair Harry was using as a footstool.

"You all right, mate?" came the question from above, followed by a burst of light that now bathed the room in its soft glow and showed Neville that it was indeed the floor he was lying on.

"I'm fine, Harry," he finally replied, and let his friend help him up. He couldn't deny there was an edge to his voice, but he comforted himself with the notion that it was more than normal, considering the evening he had just had.

The Order wasn't dumb, unfortunately. Well, actually it was a good thing because wits were needed in the fight against Voldemort, but it was definitely a bad thing for someone who had just poisoned the juice at the dinner table. Not only had they managed to figure out that it was Veritaserum, once most of the chaos had been repressed, but they had also decided that since Neville had been the one to refill the jug, he would do fine as their primary suspect. And the fact that they had had more than enough Veritaserum at their hand – the jug had somehow fallen and broken, but not everybody had emptied their goblets – didn't help him with getting away with it. In fact, the moment that realization hit him, Neville had quickly admitted everything. He didn't know whether it had been his look of horror, or perhaps the fear and desperation in his voice, or his overcoming panic, but somehow he had succeeded in convincing everyone, even Moody, that he was telling the truth, and that there was no need to use all that Veritaserum on him.

That, however, didn't mean he had escaped unscathed. Moody had yelled at him and his stupidity, even threatened to throw him out of the Order, everybody else had given him a serious reprimand, and then Molly had shot him an extra evil look as if it was his fault Hermione didn't love Ron.

Yet somehow he had managed to keep Milla's name out of it, telling that it was his plan, and his suspicion, and his fault.

"I told them I thought Hermione was with Ron not because she wanted it, but because everybody expected this of her, and with her fragile state of mind after held in prison for weeks she felt the compulsion to please everyone."

"Well, what was I supposed to say?" he got defensive, misinterpreting the look on Harry's face. "That she is evil and wants us all dead and we have kept this information from the Order for so long?"

"No, I think you did well," Harry hurried to explain. "If they actually bought it, then it was one of the best things you could tell them. Because now they probably think you are right, and Astraea will be pressured to leave Ron."

"You think?"

"Don't you?" Harry frowned.

"I think she will find a way to turn this situation in her favour, somehow."

"Perhaps. We'll see."

"Correction, you'll see. I'm off to Algeria," Neville stated, not looking very happy about it.

"Why?"

"Because I need the blossoms of the Morgana flower for a potion, and they only grow in the heart of Sahara."

"Can't you buy them?"

"I can," he nodded. "But Moody ordered me to go there in person. He thinks it's a suitable punishment for my misdeed."

"You can handle this, right?" Harry inquired, worried. "You don't need any one of us to come with you?"

"I will be all right. It's not so much dangerous, but just a waste of time," Neville shrugged.

"Can't you just pretend to be going or something? You can hide out in the apartment," he suggested.

"And trick Moody? No. The last thing I need is him being even angrier with me. And if I read his hints correctly, he has set up an ambush for me somewhere there."

"Another fake mission," Harry sighed. "I'd thought that after the last one…"

"He'll probably send someone to follow and protect me, too. Despite his words and actions, he knows I'm important to the Order. He wouldn't let me die."

"You speak like Hermione wasn't important to us," he muttered darkly, although without accusation, knowing that his friend had not meant that.

"Of course she was, and I think that's the exact reason why he'll send someone to look after me."

---

"So?" Milla asked impatiently after a while. She had waited for Draco to start speaking on his own, but she wasn't going to wait forever.

"So what?" he questioned, his head turned away from her and his eyes staring at the burning flames.

"What did she tell you?" she specified with a roll of her eyes.

"Nothing."

Millicent frowned in thought. Astraea had consumed Veritaserum, and she had had no choice but to answer all the questions honestly. If she had said nothing, that could only mean…

"You didn't ask her anything?" she pressed through clenched teeth, trying to keep her anger at bay.

"I told you I am on her side."

"Let me get this straight. You were there with her for almost four hours behind a locked door in a silenced room, and you didn't ask her anything?"

"That's right."

Milla frowned again. For a while, blessed silence reigned in the room, and he was grateful for it, even though he knew it wouldn't last. It didn't.

"It won't work, you know," she finally said, her soft voice barely audible over the crackling fire.

"What won't work?"

"You are trying to make her trust you, lure her into a false sense of security," she explained. "It won't work. I already tried."

"Perhaps you are right," Draco spoke with a sigh, yet there was a frozen note in his tone. "Perhaps I am trying to make her trust me. But there's nothing false about the security that I'm offering. I'm not trying to find her weak side so that I could use it to break her."

"Sometimes breaking a person is the only way to heal them."

"Sometimes breaking a person will destroy them completely."

"You are not ready to risk it," Millicent stated with a nod. In a way, she understood him. But the larger part of her believed she was right, and wasn't going to give up her fight.

"She doesn't give a damn about you, Draco, and still you are protecting her. No wonder some people consider love dangerous."

---

"When will you leave?" Milla inquired harshly.

"At midnight."

"Tonight?"

"Yes," Neville nodded, putting up the bravest face he could manage. It was one thing to go into Sahara, get ambushed, and gather the necessary ingredients, but confronting Millicent when she was giving him _that_ look, was something entirely different, and in many ways much worse.

"How long are you away?" her tone had turned casual, but the underlying peril was very much still there.

"I should be back tomorrow night. If everything goes according to the plan," he said and swallowed, not wanting to consider what might happen if everything didn't go according to the plan.

Millicent gave him a cold hard look, before turning her gaze away.

"Bring me something nice from there," she demanded.

"I will."

He waited for her to say something else, or simply give him a goodbye kiss, but she stayed motionless, and he turned to leave.

"Come back to me," she whispered, stopping him dead in his tracks, not so much for what she had said, but how she had said it. It was a plea, spoken with fear, desperation, and love.

Neville glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. He still had time. Time to say a proper goodbye. No, not a goodbye. A 'see you soon'.

---

"Potter."

Harry flinched, an expression of guilt running over his face.

"I thought you were asleep."

"And that's an excuse for you to stand there giving me a smitten look?"

"Actually," Harry replied, entering the room and coming to a halt before the fireplace, glancing down at Draco lounging in the armchair, "I was trying to catch that angelic teddy bear look Hermione has told me so much about. Thought I might take a picture of it and share with everybody."

As soon as he had said it, he realized he should have picked another retort, one that didn't bring back painful memories. Or more like good, happy memories which made the current situation even worse. But at the same time those were the only cure they had.

"Speaking about Hermione, what did she want to talk to you about?"

"She wanted me to take down my part of the binding charm," Harry replied.

"And what did she offer in return?"

"Promise to leave Ron alone. And Unbreakable Vow never to disclose any confidential information about the Order."

"No," Draco vetoed the idea immediately. "No Unbreakable Vow."

"I thought it might be too dangerous," Harry agreed. "Somehow she will find a way around it."

"Not that," Draco's voice was considerably colder. "There's no way around an Unbreakable Vow. That's why it's Unbreakable. And that's why it is too dangerous for her."

"For her?"

"She might get into a situation where she can't keep her silence, just like today. And then the Vow will kill her. Have you forgotten, Potter, that she is still your friend?"

"Hermione was my friend," Harry said.

"If you kill her, you kill Hermione as well."

"I know," Harry sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "I know."

"And I'm not going to kill anyone here," he continued after a moment, "but what if she goes and tells all that she knows to Voldemort or some of his Death Eaters? It might get us all killed."

"If she wanted to tell, she could have done it before," Draco reasoned. "Besides, with Voldemort already having a spy amongst us, it doesn't really matter that much."

---

She couldn't see their faces. They were nothing more than dark figures against red sky, sending silent curses at each other for what felt like days, even weeks. But she knew that soon one of them would fall, and red blood would overtake the black ground, yet in the end the gloomy shadows would wrap everything into their embrace.

She had seen this dream before.

Once it had reached its predicted conclusion, Astraea willed herself awake. She sat up on her bed, and for a moment gazed into the surrounding darkness, before she threw the blankets aside, and left her warm bed behind.

---

It was thirteen minutes to midnight and someone else in the house was currently doing the exactly same thing. Or perhaps almost exactly same thing because it wasn't quite exactly his bed that he was leaving. Nevertheless, he didn't want to leave, yet having a livid Moody find him like that didn't strike him as a good idea either.

So he gently removed the arm thrown rather possessively round his waist, climbed to the floor as stealthily as he could, pondered a moment whether he should dress here or in the hallway, decided that the option of being found naked behind her door would make him blush to death, tried his best to be absolutely silent, and knocked a chair over in the process.

"Try not to do that on your mission," Millicent remarked casually.

Neville, who had been lifting up that damned chair, now let go of it again in surprise, and cringed as it hit the floor with loud clatter.

"And I wouldn't suggest you do that either," she added, rolling onto her back and stretching languidly like a cat on a sunny afternoon.

"I didn't want to wake you," he apologized, and quickly righted the double-damned chair.

"Oh, and I thought you did it on purpose," Milla snorted, grabbing her wand, and lighting all the candles in the room.

"What time is it?" she inquired, but before he got a chance to answer, she had already spoken the time spell, and was now staring at the golden numbers slowly dissolving in the air.

"Ten to twelve. You should go."

"Yes," Neville added, once again failing to come up with anything better. When he had decided to give his girlfriend a proper goodbye, he hadn't meant exactly this, but she had, and didn't let him get away without it. Not that he had anything against it, just that… erm… yes. He blushed again.

"Where are you going anyway?" Millicent questioned, and for a moment he was very glad she hadn't noticed him blushing like an idiot again, even though she had said it turned her rather on, but he wasn't going to think about that if he ever wanted to get back his normal colour. But then her words finally registered in his mind, and all the gratitude was gone.

"Moody didn't want me to tell you," he spoke the truth, knowing he didn't have the time nor capability to say it more nicely.

But Millicent didn't get angry with him. Why should she, when there was Old Halfnose to blame.

"Did he? Ooh, I feel so special," she drawled sarcastically. "What is he afraid of? That I'll come along and distract you? Or that I'll notify Death Eaters about your location?"

"No!"

"No? Hmm, I'm rather sure I _could_ distract you."

"I really have to go," he swallowed, and looked away from his girlfriend proving just how well she could distract him. He would have let her, too, but he really had to go.

"You can distract me tomorrow night," he promised.

"I will do more than distract you then," she smirked, drawing the covers over her body again since the coldness of the room was creeping up on her, now that she was alone in her bed.

"See you, Milla."

"Take care! Try not to knock over any more chairs! And bring me something nice!" she called after him, then sighed as she heard the door closing.

"I hate this," she muttered angrily, extinguished the light, and tried to get some sleep. She wasn't too optimistic about succeeding in it, though.

---

"Neville."

Neville flinched, berated himself for it, and then looked up.

"Hermione," he acknowledged, and waited for her to descend the stairs to reach the last step that he was standing on.

"You are going to Sahara," she stated.

This time he managed not to start in surprise – if Moody had told the whole Order about his mission, then why in Merlin had he specifically ordered him not to breathe a word of it to Milla?

Neville replied with a vague gesture of his head that he dearly hoped could be taken both ways. Perhaps she had simply got lucky, and picked the right one out of the billions of places of the world.

"The ambush is in Ghardaïa," she announced without further ado. "Three wizards, two with wands and one with a blade. They won't kill you, but they are allowed to hurt you, as long as it's nothing lethal." 

"What? Why are you… I mean, how do you know this?" he asked in complete confusion.

"Why?" she repeated, raising a brow. "Because you're my friend, Neville. Aren't you?"

Even in his befuddled and shocked state he noticed the undertone, which left no doubt that she knew he knew about her. He hoped he hadn't given him away with that little 'why', but then reminded himself of the pumpkin juice incident, which was a much clearer proof of it than anything he might let accidentally slip.

"You should go," she said before he managed to react. "It's not wise to keep Moody waiting."

He nodded, and made to walk away from her.

"One more thing," she stopped him, placing her hand on his arm and leaning closer to whisper into his ear. "By the way, Moody knows the identity of the spy."

---

"What time is it?" Lilya questioned, slowly raising her tired head from the pillow, and giving him an unfocused look. Ron, sitting at the opposite end of his bed glanced at the clock on his wall, and informed her,

"Three till midnight."

"Oh," she said and yawned. "Can't tease you yet. Tell me something more."

"How about you tell me something," Ron suggested. "I've been talking about me and my family and life for almost three hours, it's clearly your time now."

"What do you want me to tell you?" came her sleepy voice.

"Anything. I'm not picky. Something about your family perhaps. Didn't you once tell me you had a brother?"

His only reply this time was silence.

"Lilya?"

He moved closer and repeated her name, but it didn't help. By the look of it, the girl had fallen asleep, and wasn't going to wake up any time soon. Ron stood and stared at her in his bed, wondering where on earth he was going to sleep. He could take the sofa downstairs, only then he would have to explain to people why he couldn't have slept in his own room, and there would be no end to those talks. Plus, he was still with Hermione. Sort of.

With a sigh, he took out his wand and conjured the best mattress he could manage, but after trying it out, the shabby armchair by the window felt like a better choice.

"Bloody hell," he muttered silently, before sinking into that armchair and falling asleep almost immediately.

---

The clock struck midnight when Draco moved to the fireplace to Floo home. With a mighty yawn he reached for the Floo powder, but froze, noticing a dark figure standing in the shadows.

"Can't sleep?" he ventured, squinting his eyes to see who it was.

"I like nighttime," Astraea replied, stepping out from the shadows straight into a beam of moonlight. The silver patterns on her nightgown shone as bright as diamonds, and combined with the dark silk she looked like a piece of starry skies had been wrapped around her. Draco could do nothing but stare.

"The stars in Murmansk were especially beautiful," she went on. "Here they are a bit paler."

She said no more, but kept her place, and continued looking at him, her head tilted to the right and a small sly smile on her lips.

"He's not there, you know," Draco spoke, once he had regained control of his voice. "He is not in Murmansk. The castle is under our control."

"I know."

"But do you also know where he is?"

"You should have asked me that a couple of hours ago," she replied, her smile turning into a smirk.

"I'm asking you now."

"I could find him," she shrugged and turned to go. "Yet it's not Blaise whose name is written in the stars."

-----

**A/N: **I will not beg for reviews, I will not beg for reviews... but... PLEASE REVIEW! All constructive criticism is very much appreciated!


	21. Chapter 21: Think and Fight

**Disclaimer: ** Nothing is mine, except for the Morgana flower and bizarre ideas about cows and mushrooms.

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**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 21: Think and Fight**  
In which Neville fights with some most unwelcome ideas, Ron manages to confuse himself thoroughly, Astraea gets a nasty surprise, and Millicent admits being wrong._

Deserts had a magic not even all wizards understood, but Neville had read enough about it in connection with the Morgana flower, a plant that contributed considerably to the overall mystery. Morgana's fate, it was sometimes called, and even Muggles used that name to describe the phenomenon they explained with sun rays reflecting on the hot air, when in reality it was one not so innocent herb that tempted many to stray from their paths and in search of a nonexistent paradise, never to leave the desert again. Morgana flowers simply wanted company.

Neville wouldn't have minded some company either at the moment. Preferably Lilya so that they could debate over the fact whether these flowers were evil or just lonely, and listen to how one could make a simple but potent Healing Elixir from sand only. But the alchemy girl was not there, and all he had were his own bizarre thoughts which kept going stranger and stranger.

Besides, the desert was eerie and gave him chills, and not only because the temperature had dropped below zero. It was the endless field of sand under his feet, dune after dune after dune, and the cloudless sky stretching over it, scattered with stars unnaturally bright, no artificial light stealing part of their glory. He was starting to really understand Morgana's fate – one couldn't have known the meaning of loneliness before they had walked through a desert.

Moody was like a desert, he pondered, smiling with the realization that that actually wasn't the weirdest idea he had got so far. There had been one concerning cows and mushrooms which was best to leave alone. But Moody – he seemed harsh and dangerous and sometimes even ruthless, but just like the desert he protected his own. The Order wasn't his personal army, it was his baby, his only hope, and even the punishments he barked out were carefully designed to train and prepare them for what was to come in the end.

And he was wise, too. If Astraea had told the truth and he really knew the identity of the spy, wouldn't the smartest thing to do be keeping that person amongst them, letting Voldemort think that he still had a source of information while in reality false facts were fed to his spy. But in that case he must have discovered this after the deaths of Kingsley and Hestia because he wouldn't have sent them out to die just to hide his awareness of the spy. Though the motto of 'kill one to save many' started to make sense after a lot of thinking, which indicated that he had clearly thought too much and needed to stop before he would lose his mind.

Morgana flowers had to be picked at sunrise, meaning he still had some hours left. And that was good since he wasn't there yet.

Moody had specifically told him not to breathe a word about the destination of his mission to Millicent.

If Moody knew the identity of the spy, he would keep information from that person.

Malfoy had said that practically anyone of the Order could be a spy.

The connection was impossible not to make, but somehow Neville managed to cast it away before it had wholly formed.

The desert was treacherous, and it gave one treacherous ideas.

---

The armchair wasn't really that comfortable. In fact, it was rather uncomfortable, which was the only reason Ron got up before the sunrise and dragged himself downstairs for some coffee. A sofa would have been nice as well, he was too sleepy to worry what people would think upon finding him sleeping outside his room, though there was actually nothing exceptional about finding Ron sleeping on some couch or even at the kitchen table.

What was exceptional, however, was Ron wondering into the kitchen so early in the morning, even if all he planned was taking a nap. Fortunately for him, there was no one up at such hour to find this bizarre, figure out the reason, and tease him with it. Unfortunately for him, there was someone up at this hour to find this most strange, figure out the reason, and use it against him.

Astraea was standing by the window, keeping so silent that Ron, hazy with sleep and busy with yawning, didn't notice her at first. He didn't notice her later either, laying his head down upon the table and muttering something about armchairs, and he would have never learnt about her presence had she not decided to make it known.

"Hermione!" he sprang upright, her being there affecting him like a huge cup of coffee.

"Can't sleep?" she mused, stepping away from the window and moving around the kitchen.

"Yeah," Ron agreed, his mind going back to tricky armchairs that looked soft and comfy but turned into genuine torture devices after a few hours of sleep in them.

"Me neither," she admitted. "Coffee?"

He took the offered cup with a murmur of thanks, but instead of drinking he chose to simply stare at it.

"It's not poisoned," she laughed, pouring herself another and taking the seat across from him.

"About yesterday..." Ron began, not really wanting to talk about it but very aware that neither of them would get any peace before they had somehow dealt with the subject. He wasn't sure how and what he expected or even wanted, but he had this weird feeling that everything would go fine.

"When I was held prisoner at Zabini's," she began without any introduction or even pause, and she didn't make one now to let him interrupt, "there was a time when I was certain that I was going to die. I'm not saying there was any moment I felt myself safe, but later I accepted this – that I may die the next minute, or live for a while longer. But there was this evening when I was certain I would die the next day. I thought a lot that night. I went over my whole life, from the first memory I remember till that very moment and – you know me – I started to organize them, my memories. The good ones and the bad ones, what I'm proud of and what I regret. It was silly, I know, but it kept me busy, and it kept me from thinking about what was going to happen in the morning. I'm not sure whether I feared death then, or if I do it now, but sure as hell I didn't want to die. I wanted to be happy, that last night of my life, I wanted to concentrate on the good memories, but in the face of the coming doom I couldn't.

"So instead I started to think about things I regretted. Thinking what I should have done differently, and what I would do if I could go back in time and correct my mistakes. Or not even going back in time... what would I do if I managed to escape my certain death. I knew I couldn't, but I still thought about it.

"And one of those mistakes, one of my deepest regrets were you, Ron. Don't misunderstand me, I didn't regret meeting you, knowing you, befriending you, and I never will. But I did start to think, what if. What if we had become something more than friends. We could have, you know it and I know it. Sure, during our last year at school you dated Lavender, and after that we left for the Horcrux hunt and had so much else to think about, and then we came back and once again had so much else to think about. But we still could have, yet we didn't.

"And that's what I regretted – never giving you a chance, never giving us a chance. But do you know what was the worst thing about it? The worst thing was that I was never going to find out what could have become of us. I was never going to find out whether our relationship would have worked out or not, and this was what pained me most. You know how I hate not knowing things. And I absolutely hated, loathed even, the idea that I was never going to find out if I made a mistake not giving you a chance or not. Not knowing what would have become of us."

She paused then, giving him the time he desperately needed to understand her words.

"But we saved you," Ron remarked after a while, once he thought he had more or less figured out her point.

"You did, and I got the chance to correct the mistakes I'd made."

"And do you regret giving me a chance now?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"Never," she smiled.

"But this doesn't work, does it?" he spoke after a while, and it was more of a statement than a question.

"I think," she said, carefully choosing and pronouncing each word, "that we are better friends than lovers."

"Friends?" he repeated, giving his cup of untouched coffee a sharp glare.

"Ron, I do love you," she almost pleaded. "Just not like that."

"Friends is fine," he announced, still glaring at the red cup. He didn't like it, he didn't understand it, he didn't agree to it. But his heart, that treacherous organ, was telling him that being friends with Hermione was **indeed** fine.

---

Morgana flowers had to be picked at sunrise. Or sunset. But the red sun was an important factor. Because Morgana flowers were invisible. That is, they were invisible during the day and during the night, but under the red sun they burnt like flames. And not only did they look like fire, but they also felt like fire.

Neville fished all the necessary equipment out of his pockets, and reduced it to its original size. He put on the dragonhide gloves, and picked up the special scissors to cut the plant. Besides luring and burning, the Morgana flower was also rather resistant to magic, prone to turn into ashes moments after the severing of its stem, and not very tolerant about all the stasis and freezing spells used to keep it fresh. And like that wasn't enough, incorrect use of it in potions usually ended with major explosions. The Morgana flower was smart and revengeful, not making life any easier for its killers. Of course, therein lay its power.

Many people considered the Morgana flower the most beautiful flower in the world, and at the time of the red sun, its fiery blossom was a sight not many other herbs could compete with. Neville wasn't one of those people. In his opinion, there was no prettier plant than the yellow tulip.

Even he had been surprised at how well and easy _that_ mission had gone.

His hand trembled, and the flower crumbled into dust. With a sigh, he stood and walked up to another one growing nearby.

---

"It's okay," she said, her tone telling the exact opposite. "I understand you."

_Good for you, _Ron thought. _Because **I** don't._

He felt he should say something more, tell her that in his opinion they did work, and her leaving him like that was going to turn into one of her future regrets. He felt he should yell, or plead, or promise to change himself, to be better, somehow, to fulfill all her dreams. Perhaps it wouldn't matter, perhaps she was too certain in her decision, but he felt he had to try, to convince her to stay, to love her and make her love him. He felt... no, he didn't feel. He thought all this. It seemed the right behaviour in his mind because he did love her, and he did want to be with her, and he did have to fight for her.

But he didn't feel like he should do any of this. And that he didn't understand.

Perhaps he should have remained in his dreadfully uncomfortable armchair. Perhaps he should have drunk his cup of coffee while it was still hot. Perhaps it was too early for this kind of things, and he was too sleepy to do this.

"No, it's really fine. You're probably right – we are better friends," he said, not understanding why he was saying this, or why did it feel right to say this when it clearly wasn't true.

"Are you sure?" she looked doubtful.

_I have never been less sure of anything in my entire life._

"Yes, I'm sure."

Had someone cursed him to say the exact opposite of what he should have? And did that curse also make him feel the exact opposite of what he should have? And why, oh why did it have to happen so early in the morning that he didn't understand a thing?

"You're the best," she declared, and sprang to her feet to walk round the table up to him, only to come to an awkward halt there.

He opened his arms for her, and she threw herself at him with a happy squeal, and he held her close to him, more confused than even before.

---

This particular night seemed stingy towards many, and those among the Order who managed to get some sleep had to consider themselves lucky.

Millicent had given up on it somewhere around three o'clock, and on her way into the bathroom she had found Draco sitting by the fire in the same room they had occupied before, fully awake and deep in thought. She didn't go to seek his company, though, preferring to be alone, but sometime towards the morning he had come to check upon her, and despite her independent nature, she hadn't protested. Much.

After exchanging a couple of questions and answers, they had sat in silence, both thinking their own thoughts and trying to find the solution to their own problems, even though some of those matters happened to coincide. Once it started to dawn, they reached the silent agreement to go into the kitchen for breakfast.

Just like Ron before, they too considered themselves the earliest birds in the nest, since none had actually had any sleep at all, and while Millicent had lain in her bed for a couple of hours, tired but unable to stop worrying, Draco hadn't even tried to, too obsessed with Astraea's words to him and figuring out their meaning. And just like Ron before, they too were wrong, as they realized upon stepping into the kitchen and finding two people already there and hugging.

"Get a room," Milla snapped in greeting, since a sleepless night of worrying made her cranky, and seeing one of her least favourite people didn't improve her spirits.

Astraea pulled away from Ron, winked at the newcomers, and turned back to her companion.

"Mine, no?"

"Your what?" he inquired, not even trying to understand since it was probably a lost cause anyway.

"My room, of course. You're welcome there."

"But you just said... you told... I..." he started, his confusion turning into an even bigger confusion.

"You really aren't a morning person, Ron," she laughed at him. "And it will be more comfy than doing it here."

"Damn right it is!" Millicent announced from a cupboard she was currently attacking. "Not to mention that some people are trying to eat here."

"But... but... but... but you just dumped me!" Ron managed at last.

Milla pulled her head out of the cupboard and wheeled towards the scene so quickly that she almost lost her balance, while Draco barely managed not to drop the cup of coffee he had just made for himself, both clearly surprised at such news and curious of what was going to happen next.

"Sleep, Ron," Astraea chuckled. "You can use my bed to sleep in it, since there's obviously something wrong with yours."

"Why would you think that?" he exclaimed, a little too loud and fast, trying not to blush or look guilty.

"Because you are awake," she grinned.

"I don't know what you're playing at," Milla hissed once a blushing and guilty-looking Weasley had left, "but I'm going to find out, and then you will not escape from me."

"Have some coffee," Astraea pushed the cup into her hands, almost sloshing some of the hot liquid over its rim. "You don't seem to be a morning person either."

She glared at her, then at the beverage, then at the rising sun outside.

"Did no one sleep tonight?" she muttered to herself.

Draco, who had kept his silence this far, trying to figure out what exactly this new development meant, decided to open his mouth now and ask.

"Aren't you sabotaging your own plan by ending things with Weasley?"

Millicent sat at the table, trying to appear totally occupied with her sandwich and tea (despite her sleepless night she had enough mind to realize that drinking something Astraea had given to her might not be a very good idea), but in reality paying very close attention to their every word.

"Care to enlighten me what plan that would be?" she inquired, leaning against the doorway.

"You offered to let go of Weasley in exchange of Potter removing his part of the charm," he explained casually, "Now you have nothing to negotiate with."

The smile she gave in reply was dripping with danger and foul intentions. She made to leave, but instead of walking through the door she suddenly leapt in the very opposite direction, and before either Slytherins could react or even comprehend what was happening, one of them was down on the floor, wand pressed into his neck.

With a fierce cry of battle, Millicent jumped towards them, whipping out her own wand.

"Don't, Milla," he ordered, but she didn't listen, and a moment later the tip of her wand was against her enemy's temple.

"Oh, please do give me an excuse to curse you," she drawled.

"Milla, don't," Draco repeated.

"Shut up! Drop your wand and I just might leave you alive."

"How very generous of you," Astraea replied, not making a move. "And how terrible of me to turn down such a nice offer."

"Milla!" he almost shouted, but she didn't listen, already waving her wand. But before she managed to complete the incantation, something hard hit her stomach, and she stumbled back, grabbing hold of the table to keep herself from falling. Yet as unexpected as this was, both her wand and eyes were trained upon her enemy the whole time.

"You have to do better than that!" she growled.

"I don't take my orders from you," Astraea replied, standing up slowly and putting away her wand. "I don't take orders from anyone."

"Oh?" Milla raised her brow. "And I thought you took them from Blaise."

She felt like doing a happy dance at seeing anger flash in the eyes of her opponent. The war was not over, but she had clearly just won a battle.

"This is not going to end well for you," Astraea said, keeping her tone level.

"Well, that's strange," Millicent admitted. "I just thought the same. About you."

"We'll see about that," she said, walking out of the kitchen.

"Milla..." he began darkly, but she didn't let him finish.

"Astraea – zero, Millicent – two," she announced. "Ah, can't you just smell the victory."

---

Somehow, this little victory managed to brighten up Milla's whole day, and despite still worrying about her boyfriend she felt rather optimistic about his safe return, all thanks to her enemy, as ironic as it was. Nothing seemed to bring her down, not Draco's reprimands, not Potter's suspicious stare, not Moody's barking words at their daily meeting. And towards the evening her spirits only heightened as she was expecting Neville back soon.

So when Astraea stepped into her room that late afternoon, she didn't draw her wand or even glare at her, but merely grinned.

"Back for more?"

She answered by casting a Silencing Spell, and Milla took it as a 'yes', standing up from her desk, and taking in the duelling pose.

"I'd love to kick your ass again," she announced.

"I wasn't aware it was me who got punched this morning."

"You call that a..." Milla started to scoff, but before her sentence was finished, Astraea made her first move, crouching down on the floor and firing a curse. Her shield was up in a fraction of a second, and the spell bounced off, hitting a chair instead and blowing it to pieces.

"I liked that chair!" was Millicent's battle cry this time – not as popular and widely-used as some others, but suiting the situation just fine.

And then they were both firing off spells at each other, both putting up shields to protect themselves, both jumping around and changing positions to get a better aim and dodge the opponent's curses. Millicent briefly managed to wonder why the hell did they have to battle in her room, where it were her things that were blown to pieces or burnt to ash, but then a spell grazed her shoulder, and she quickly turned all her attention back to their duel. Her opponent fought well, even in such restricted conditions as her not overly spacious room, but she was no worse either.

Currently Astraea was making a horizontally crescent movement with her wand, and Millicent quickly dropped herself to the floor, feeling the wave of power pass over her head and hit the window behind, smashing the glass. But her own spell was said moments before that, and luckily for her Astraea hadn't been fast enough, letting herself be hurled into a wall. It didn't seem to have much effect on her, though, as her countermove came the second she hit it, and Millicent, hoping it would knock her out, was in for a major disappointment. She was also in danger, rolling on the carpet without a chance to get up, deflecting spells and moving out of their way, so quickly was her enemy firing them off. But she managed to creep behind her desk, or what was left of it, remaining there in silence, keeping her breath and listening intently. When she figured time was right, Milla pointed her wand at the ruins of her desk, blasting it away, hopefully straight at Astraea, preparing to take her opponent down while she was busy with getting hit by her desk. But Astraea wasn't where she should have been, as she realized a moment later when something collided with her, throwing them both down. She held on to her wand with all her might, but it didn't seem to be doing much good, since now she was on the receiving end of kicks and punches instead of curses and hexes. She struck back, of course, never letting go of her wand, at least not before her arm was being twisted rather painfully, and even then she managed to toss it further away, out of the reach of them both.

Now they were rolling on the carpet together, the wizard's duel having turned into a common fistfight, although knees, elbows, and teeth were also used, among other things. Millicent delivered another blow, then bit down upon the hand holding her wrist, but didn't get even a moment to breathe because Astraea's other hand had found her hair and was now yanking a bit too hard for comfort. She kicked and struggled to get free, then raised her arms to do the same, but when she finally grabbed it was not hair that she felt in her hands. Astraea gasped for air, and the next thing she knew, razor sharp nails were biting into her flesh. Quite surprisingly, though, even for herself, Millicent didn't let go. The nail thing was nasty, but not as painful as the hair thing had been, and instead of freeing her hands to give out some punches, she only strengthened her grip. Now she was the one getting kicked, but she answered by gripping even tighter than before. And then, without realizing what exactly she had done right, they rolled around again, only this time Milla managed to end on the top, holding the other girl down. Here her heavy build was a big plus, as she kept her from punching her mainly thanks to her weight, although the firm grip on her neck might have had something to do with it as well.

---

Astraea was most surprised. After practicing with Blaise, then doing it for real with Harry, Ron, and Draco, she had been quite confident of her fighting skills. Down in the kitchen that morning, she had merely tested Millicent's reaction speed, which had been relatively, but not surprisingly, good. Later she had removed herself from the fight, fully aware that Draco had stayed down on the floor only because he had wanted, not because she left him no choice. He could have thrown her off any moment, and if she had continued to duel, he would have separated them soon, disarming or even stupefying them both.

Here and now, alone with Millicent in her Silenced room, it was one on one, just the two of them, against each other. She had planned to knock her out with a spell, nothing too wicked, just to show which of them here the master was. But the girl was quick to deflect all her curses, or jump away from them, so she had changed her tactics and chosen the Muggle kind of fight. She knew it wasn't foreign to her opponent, thinking about their very first close encounter in the second year, but she had counted on the moment of surprise, hoping to knock her down and knock her out before she managed to give the first kick.

She had been mistaken, though. Millicent was a hell of a fighter, both with spells and fists, and now she had a strong grip on her neck, and breathing was becoming harder and harder. She tried to twist, struggle, kick out, but the damn girl was too heavy to throw her off like that; she clawed at her arms, but she was rather resistant to such pain as well, and suddenly Astraea was officially out of ideas. She was also officially suffocating, and that was very, very bad. What the hell did she have to do know to get rid of her? Her wand was... somewhere, but not in her reach, her kicks were too weak... and her vision was slowly starting to darken.

She had to turn the situation to her benefit right this moment. She gasped again, gulping for air, feeling the first notes of panic that she really couldn't afford now. There was nothing but a strange roaring in her ears, and it really couldn't have been twilight yet, but the room was dim, and getting dimmer, and Astraea opened her mouth again.

She felt her lips move, but she didn't know what she was saying, and she heard nothing but the roar. She could only hope that she wasn't pleading for her life, and if she were, then Millicent would listen.

And suddenly the pressure was gone. Suddenly she could breathe again, and see again, and even her hearing started to come back, and the weight was removed from her, and Astraea thought no more. Still drinking up the precious air, she grabbed the wand she only now noticed lying beside her, leapt to her feet, and fired off a spell, hitting Millicent straight in her chest and blasting her hard against the wall.

Without a pause she started to cast another, when the fact that her defeated opponent was laughing suddenly registered in her brain. And it was not the ironic hopeless laugh she might have expected, or the forced one in attempt to make the attacker curious and prolong the coming end, but a laugh filled with true amusement. If they had been duelling for life and death, she would have done away with her then and there, not letting the mystery of the laughter bother her. But since she had no intention to kill Millicent, but was out to simply knock her unconscious, she gave her another moment, trying to figure out what in Circe could be this funny for a person who had just been thrown into a wall none too gently.

"You have no idea what you said, have you?" Millicent had stopped laughing, now displaying an extremely disturbing grin.

"I know very well what I said," she replied coldly. "And I also know why I said it."

"That makes two of us," she smirked, slumping down to the floor. "I was ready to hear you beg, and that clever plan of yours would have never worked. But I didn't expect **this**."

"Your fault," Astraea shrugged, trying to recall with all her might what extremely stupid thing she had said.

"You said a name," she chuckled. "And it wasn't mine."

Now she finally raised the wand and finished off her opponent, hurling her across the room into another wall, and watching blood flow down her face. Millicent looked like hell, but she was alive, and for that she had to be grateful because this last move in their duel had been done in anger, and she had barely managed to hold herself back from actually killing her.

Because now she remembered what she had said, and someone had to die for this.

---

A couple of hours later, when Millicent had regained consciousness, managed to crawl to her wand, and done some serious restoring of both herself and her room, that she was ready to step in front of wider public again, deciding that her appearance wouldn't make people scream and faint in horror anymore. She wasn't fully healed yet, but she knew that Draco had just the potion she needed.

---

"You fell down the stairs?" he raised his brow at her.

Millicent briefly wondered whether she should have come up with a better excuse, but her head was still hurting and she was not in the mood to get creative.

"You're not my mother," she snapped at him. "Give me the potion before I come and take it."

"Who won?" he asked, throwing the small vial to her. Millicent caught it with some trouble, and then pondered the question.

"It depends on how you define victory," she said at last. "But I have a feeling it was me."

"In that case, she'll want a revanche," Draco remarked, truly surprising Millicent with not yelling or even reprimanding her for duelling with his girl. Her shock must have shown because he let out a mirthless laugh and explained.

"I don't like the idea of you fighting with her, but you were right. She doesn't give a damn about me or my words, and you aren't too fond of listening to me either. Just remember that she is used to duelling with Unforgivables and dark curses, and she is too careful to cast them in this house."

"In other words, I might have beat her, but she's still better," she remarked sourly.

"I'm just saying that outside the Headquarters she might kill you."

She nodded at that, sitting down on the sofa and buying herself a bit of time by swallowing her potion and making a face at the foul taste.

"I think I was wrong," she said at last, handing the bottle back to him.

"Ah," he smirked. "Never thought I would hear these words coming from your mouth."

"Me neither," she admitted after a few moments of scowling at him.

"Good to hear them," he gave her a good-natured smile. "What were you wrong about, then?"

Millicent, already standing by the door, placed her hand on its knob, ready to bolt out once her bombshell was dropped. She didn't want to say too much, in case she happened to be wrong about being wrong, but she felt it was important and she was right about being wrong.

"I think I was wrong when I told you that she didn't give a damn about you. I think your chances with her are infinitesimal, but I think they are there."

Quickly she slipped through the doorway and hurried down the corridor towards her own room, ignoring him calling her name and demanding an explanation. But Milla couldn't quite explain it herself, so surprised had she been at hearing the name of her best friend fall from her enemy's lips. But it had to be important, it had to mean something because she had felt Astraea's rage in that last curse she had cast on her.

-----

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	22. Chapter 22: Heroine

**Note: **A somewhat calm chapter after the last rather violent one, but hopefully not too boring. It has Ginny!

-----

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 22: Heroine**  
In which Ginny comes to the Headquarters to fix everything._

It hadn't been a gorgeous day for Harry, but at the same time it hadn't been catastrophic either. After all, he was still alive, and no one he cared about had been injured or killed. Another day over, another day survived. The war had taught him that not much was required for happiness, and sometimes it felt so good just to stand in the fresh air and breathe. Being alive and having his friends alive was all he needed, the knowledge of having survived yet another day. But it couldn't go on like this forever, this surviving one day at a time. Because the Final Battle was approaching, and one day it would arrive. And then more than one life would be lost on their side. They might win, but that victory would come at a cost he was unwilling to pay, yet it was not his decision. All the people fighting with them against Voldemort had the right to sacrifice their lives for their cause, and there was nothing Harry could do about it. They would go, and they would fight, and they would die, and it was their decision to make, not his. He could destroy Lord Voldemort, but he couldn't save everybody. But he could stand in the fresh air, take deep breaths, and be happy to be alive. And wish with all his heart that no bad news would find him there tonight.

Yet he couldn't stay outside forever. Suppressing his sigh, Harry left the serene darkness and twinkling stars, entering the building. Slowly he made his way to the kitchen, hoping to find some friendly faces or at least a comforting cup of strong tea. What he didn't expect, though, was a beautiful girl with flaming red hair munching happily on the biscuits Molly had made last night, sipping her pumpkin juice, and looking like she didn't have a care in the world. He halted at the threshold, first from the shock of finding her there, then simply because the sight was too perfect to ruin. She looked so peaceful, so innocent sitting there like that, and he suddenly felt his weariness and desperation evaporate. Perhaps he couldn't save the world, perhaps he couldn't prevent people from dying in this war, but if his contribution in all this meant that she could sit at the table and enjoy biscuits any time she wanted, then it was worth all this. Standing in the doorway and looking at this fair creature, so beautiful, so fierce, so delicate, Harry knew that this was one of those memories he would cherish till the moment of his death, no matter when and how it would come. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered, nothing but her safety and happiness.

But something about his own thoughts gave Harry pause. He frowned – something was wrong. He raised his glance again, hoping to find consolation and clarification from her image, and then it suddenly hit him.

"What are you doing here, Ginny?" he asked, his worry at her safety making his tone harsh and unforgiving.

She flinched and looked up, meeting his gaze. For one moment her expression was almost frightened, but then she collected herself, forcing her features back to calm, although the former innocence and ease were lost.

"I asked you something," he reminded her, moving closer to the table, keeping his eyes on her the whole time.

"I came to visit," she shrugged, her gaze dropping to her plate and the few biscuits still left. She picked up one of them, but feeling suddenly unable to eat, put it back, and took a sip of her drink instead.

"And McGonagall was all right with this?" Harry asked in surprise. The Headmistress had seemed a bit reluctant to even grant him a one hour visit last time he'd gone to see her. True, she had visited the Headquarters and her family before, but usually during holidays, and even then he had known about her coming days if not weeks in advance. Yet now he hadn't heard a word about it from anyone, and it wasn't something Molly would forget to announce.

"She doesn't mind," Ginny replied, pushing the plate away and busying herself with taking the empty glass to the sink.

"But she doesn't know either, does she?"

"No, she doesn't," she admitted, standing with her back towards him and refusing to turn around.

Now Harry let out the sigh he had repressed before. This was not good. McGonagall was not going to like this, and the rest of the Order wouldn't approve either. There was a reason things had been arranged this way, and that was the safety of all parts involved. As both Hogwarts and this place were protected with Anti-Apparition wards, the only secure connection between the two was the fireplace in the Headmistress' office, and even that could be used for authorized travelling only, and only a selected few could give this permission.

And as far as he knew, no one but McGonagall could open the connection from that end, meaning that there was no way Ginny could have gone through it without the Headmistress' knowledge. With a nasty suspicion gnawing at him, Harry said as much.

The glass slipped from her fingers and fell towards the floor as if in slow motion. She watched its progress, waiting it hit and smash into hundreds of tiny pieces. There was something so familiar in the way it fell and in the way it broke and in the way the pieces littered the floor afterwards. She glared at them for reminding her things that still kept her up half the night and made her sob quietly into her pillows. With a determined move she drew her wand, and with a few words the pieces flew back up from the floor, forming the glass just the way it had been before. If only all things could be repaired that easily!

"I didn't Floo here," she replied, putting the glass away and finally turning to face him. "I Apparated."

"You can't Disapparate from Hogwarts, and you can't Apparate here."

"No. But I can Apparate from Hogsmeade to Diagon Alley."

The look on his face was pure shock, and suddenly his legs didn't want to carry him any longer. Slumping down to a chair, he tried his best to comprehend this new information. The fact that McGonagall and the Order would get mad sounded so trivial now, compared to this. He had tried so hard to keep her safe. He had sacrificed his own happiness and had hurt her in the most terrible way, just to keep her safe. And now she was standing before him and telling him that she had just put herself in the gravest danger, that she had risked her life in so many ways. Hogsmeade wasn't safe, and neither was Diagon Alley. More than one person had been abducted from both places, and more than once had they suffered a full-force Death Eater attack. To think that she had not only been there, alone and helpless, but that she had first also walked from the castle to the village, and then from Diagon Alley to here... That made hundreds of spots where she could have been ambushed, kidnapped, killed. And he could have done nothing, absolutely nothing to protect her. She might have died with the thought that he didn't give a damn about her, that he didn't want her, that he didn't love her; she might have died hating him. She might have died. She might have died. She might have died.

"Ginny, do you..." He found it hard to speak, but swallowed and tried again. "Do you have **any** idea how dangerous it was for you to come here like that?"

Whatever Harry had expected, it wasn't her throwing her head back and laughing out loud, even though there was no mirth in the sound.

"This is war," she spoke with wry amusement. "Danger is everywhere."

"You would be safe in Hogwarts!"

"No, Harry," she shook her head. "I wouldn't."

"But at least you would be safer there!" he snapped, closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead, letting out another sigh.

"I can't keep you safe, if you do tricks like this," he muttered, more to himself. "I did all I could – I hurt you in the most horrible way, I broke your heart, I did everything to make you hate me and stay away from me and this war. Do you know how hard it was for me to look you in the eye that morning and say those awful words, to tell you all these lies when my heart cried out and more than anything did I want to crush you against me and tell you how much I love you? But I had to keep you safe, I had to keep you away from this war. Because if something happened to you... I couldn't bear it. I couldn't. And now you come here and tell me that all my efforts have been in vain. Why, Ginny, why did you have to do this?"

She was silent for a while, but when she finally spoke, her voice was stronger than it had been for a long time.

"You are an idiot, Harry."

He started, and looked at her in surprise, as if he had forgotten her presence and only now realized that she was still there. And actually this was the case. In his lament he had addressed her more than once, but he had been simply thinking, not aware of saying any of it out loud. Now, however, her face told him everything and more, and feeling the first notes of panic, he quickly thought back to all that had gone through his mind, and all that he had apparently also told her. The knowledge that he had just revealed her everything didn't improve his mood at all.

"You are an idiot, Harry," she repeated, tilting her head and giving him an unfathomable look. Harry couldn't but agree. He had been a true idiot, letting her presence slip his mind like that and telling her all that he had so dearly tried to keep from her. The last shreds of his ingenious plan were torn away, and all the horrible things he had done to her had been done for naught. He had failed to protect the one person that meant the world to him. He had failed her.

"But you are my idiot," Ginny grinned, striding across the kitchen up to where he was sitting on the chair, and cupping his face in her hands.

"Don't you ever do this again, Harry Potter," she spoke with all seriousness, before bending down her head and pressing her lips to his.

And the following would have been pure heaven to both of them, had Ron not chosen this particular moment to enter the kitchen.

---

It hadn't been a particularly good day for Ron, but it had been a particularly confusing one. After the early morning talk with Hermione, the one about her dumping him, he had gone to her room, lied down on her bed, and fallen asleep at once. But quite against all his hopes and wishes he didn't wake up later only to discover that it had all been nothing more than a nightmare. On the contrary, it was just as real at ten o'clock as it had been before sunrise, and Ron was every bit as confused as he had been before.

He loved her, he knew he loved. But why, dear Merlin, why had he let her go so easily? And why had it felt so wrong to let her go so easily? And why had it felt the right thing to do at the same time? And why were his own thoughts still making no sense to him, even after a decent sleep and a decent meal? And why had Charlie given him **that** look at learning about his recent break-up with Hermione? And why in bloody hell couldn't he find Lilya when he really needed to speak with the girl?

Too confused about everything, Ron had spent the day trying not to think. He had even gone to the Library Room but for some reason there was nothing about Quidditch there, meaning that he had to leave with empty hands and nothing to do to keep his mind off all the things that only managed to drive him nuts. Thinking really wasn't his strongest side. He desperately needed another opinion, but the only person he could talk to seemed to have disappeared for good.

He did a little roaming around the house, looking for someone or something entertaining, but after receiving several looks of sympathy from Molly, a couple of angry glares from Millicent, and an oddly puzzled gaze from Malfoy, he finally decided in favour of his own room, and stayed there until hunger came to plague him.

On his way to the kitchen, however, he practically ran into the very person he had been looking for the whole day.

"Lilya!"

The girl looked at him, and blushed, making him blush as well, and a couple of moments of awkward silence followed, until she realized that they hadn't really done anything that would require her to blush this much, and he recalled the reason he had wanted to talk to her in the first place.

"Kitchen?" the both asked at the same time, and burst out laughing.

"Yeah, let's go," Ron said, not too fond of having any serious conversation on an empty stomach.

And so, the two of them made their way into the kitchen, where Ginny had just pressed her mouth to Harry's.

For one moment he froze in the doorway, taking in the scene opening up to him. But before Lilya managed to grab his arm and stop him, he had already made his move. With an expression of white fury, he marched up to the kissing couple, and pulled his sister away. Ginny, clearly unprepared for this, staggered back a few steps, her eyes full of surprise and confusion. But when she looked back to Harry, he was already being attacked by a very livid Ron, and she was given no time to come to terms with the situation, as the only thing she could do at the moment was to try to separate her boyfriend and brother. Alone she would have never succeeded, but Lilya came to her help and together they somehow managed to drag a kicking and screaming Ron away from his victim, who once again refrained from kicking back, only parrying his blows and defending himself.

"I'll kill you!" Ron was yelling. "I'll kill you!"

"Ron, don't!" Ginny was pleading, stumbling forwards as he jumped towards Harry again.

"Ron, listen to me," Lilya was insisting at his other side. "I really need to talk to you. It's very important."

"I'll kill him!" he growled again, trying to shake off the two women gripping his arms and preventing him from moving freely.

"I love him and he loves me and I will not let you hurt him," Ginny stated, but no one seemed to be listening to her.

"Later, later," Lilya tried to pacify him. "You can kill him later. I just really need to talk to you at the moment. It's very important. And it won't wait."

"What?" Ron grumbled, not happy with the idea of putting off his killing Harry even for a few moments.

"It's private," she stated. "Just a few moments, Ron, in the corridor. They won't be going anywhere. And then you can come back and do whatever you want."

"Whatever I want?" he asked suspiciously. "And you won't stop me?"

"No one will stop you then," she promised. "Just come to the hallway with me, just for a second."

Sending Harry a glare full of hatred, Ron finally relented, ending his struggling and allowing Lilya to lead him through the door. Once in the hallway, however, his calmness disappeared, and snatching his arm away from her, he wheeled around to grace her with an angry look, demanding hotly, "Well, what is it? What is so important that you had to drag me away from protecting my baby sister from that bastard?"

She didn't say anything at first, just pushed him another step further, and placed herself between him and the kitchen door, in case she needed to prevent his storming back inside. But even though he was looking more than eager to rush to continue his beating Harry up, he was curious enough to demand an explanation.

"You better have a bloody good reason!" he glared at her.

"I have two bloody good reasons," her gaze did not waver. "At least."

"Let's hear them then. And quickly, I've got things to do."

"Fine," she snapped. "First, you have to calm down."

"I will not--"

"Second," she growled, "he loves her, and he adores her, and he was simply trying to protect her, and it hurt him to cause her the pain."

"What? You--"

"And she loves him, too. And she has forgiven him. And she needs him!"

"What are you talking about?" Ron despaired. He could deal with anger, he could deal with beating up his former best friend for hurting his little sister. But he wasn't sure he could deal with any more confusion, and not just a bit of it, but loads. He pushed towards the doorway, but his attempt was only half-hearted, so much was his confusion troubling him.

"You know what I'm talking about," she huffed, and turned her back to him, as if he had done something to insult her. Which he hadn't. Probably. Hopefully.

He frowned at her in annoyance. If not for her, he would still be inside punching Harry, and having no need to think about it, to ponder her words and their meaning.

He let out a huff himself, turned his back to her, and pondered.

---

In the kitchen, Harry and Ginny were practically holding their breaths. They couldn't hear what Lilya and Ron were talking outside the door, but they heard their voices, and Ron's clearly sounded angry.

"Who is she?" Ginny asked quietly, helping him up to a chair and taking the seat next to his.

"Lilya Doonlen. Alchemist something. Neville's friend."

"Oh," she replied. There didn't seem to be much to say. "She's nice."

Harry only nodded.

"And Ron actually listens to her," she wondered, more to herself.

Now that she had mentioned this, the fact did sound strange to him. Ron listened to no one, especially in such a mood in which he had been a few moments ago. Save Hermione, perhaps, but even that was questionable. But now a girl who none of them actually knew had managed to drag a Ron in rage out of the room, and he had let her... This was too weird.

"You don't think..." Ginny began, her thoughts having taken quite similar paths.

"No," he shook his head. "He's with Hermione. He's crazy after her, he couldn't... well, you know."

"Yes, I know."

---

Ron was angry. He was angry at Harry for hurting his sister. He was angry at Ginny for coming here tonight and bringing it all up again. He was angry at Hermione for dumping him. But most of all, he was angry at Lilya for not only preventing him from beating Harry into a bloody plump, but also trying to quench his anger towards him. And, as horribly terrible as it was, succeeding.

Well, he was still angry at Harry. But once the realization hit, no matter how many minutes of deep thinking and frowning it took, his desire to commit a murder tonight was slowly starting to ebb away.

"You read their minds," he accused her. "And I thought you didn't do it. Bad for the mystery of the character, or something like that."

"I didn't read their minds," she snapped back. "I just took a quick peek. Which I would have never taken, but their feelings were already so obvious. Any fool would have seen it."

"If they were so obvious, then why did you need to take a quick peek at all?" Ron muttered darkly. He hadn't noticed anything.

"You were too livid to see anything but red. And I only looked to make sure it was all real and not some clever act."

"And it **was** real?"

"It was real."

Ron glared at her, not for a moment doubting what she had said. She was a Legilimens, after all, and he couldn't think of a reason why she would lie about it. She was his friend, but not Harry's, and recalling the words she had told him the last time they had discussed this whole thing, he was absolutely sure that if Harry's intentions had been wicked, she would have used another way to stop him from beating him up. _He's not worth it_, she would have said, _Don't waste the time you could spend with your sister on that bastard._ But she hadn't, and, as funny as it was, he trusted her.

"Fine. I won't kill him," he promised. "But I will go back in, and I will yell at him, and you will not stop me."

"Fair enough," Lilya shrugged, and stepped aside to let him pass.

---

If Harry had been surprised by Ron's behaviour before, then what happened after his return to the kitchen shocked him to the core. He entered, sent him a killer glare, and took a deep breath before letting out all his boiled up anger. Ginny made a move to stop his shouting, but Lilya halted her with a pointed look and shake of head. After some good ten minutes of yelling, screaming, ranting, and some insulting, all that Harry bore silently, Ron finally stopped, slumping down to the table with the question of "What's for dinner?"

Harry and Ginny exchanged a puzzled look, surprised at the calm manner in which he had asked that, and his wholly non-hostile expression he was displaying now. Noticing that, Lilya had to turn her face away to hide the smile she simply couldn't suppress. This was what 'using her abilities for doing good' meant.

Not getting any answer, Ron looked around in the kitchen, noticed the biscuits Ginny hadn't eaten, and drawing the plate closer he happily stuffed two into his mouth.

"Mum didn't mention you coming," he casually remarked after a while.

"She must have forgot," Ginny supplied, ignoring the look Harry gave her.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "She must have. She probably made these biscuits specially for you. Harry, mate, hand me some pumpkin juice."

Some decent yelling and biscuits – the best way to overcome any anger. And it really did work, Ron realized.

"How did you do it?" Ginny whispered to Lilya, once it seemed safe to talk again.

"Good persuasion skills," the girl replied with a grin.

"Those would be remarkable persuasion skills," the redhead corrected. "You've got to teach me."

"We'll see."

It was those 'persuasion skills' and a quick omelette that bought her a one-way ticket into this company. She was already a friend of Ron, and the way she had managed to calm him down was enough for Ginny to befriend her. Harry was a bit more suspicious and reluctant, but he was still feeling too guilty to stop the others from accepting Lilya.

She was happy to join them, making a mental remark that this was exactly how a spy of Voldemort should act. First get into the Order, then into the close-knit group around Potter. Win the trust of his best friend and his lover, and you will get all the secret information you need. She should start giving lectures about it.

---

Two hours later Astraea found the same group still in the kitchen, talking and laughing together. She halted at the threshold, taking in the situation and people before her. Her gaze fell on Ginny, and stayed there for a few moments, before she stepped into the room and made her presence known.

"Ginny!"

"Hermione!" the exclamation left her lips before she remembered everything Harry had told her about the new and evil version of their friend. But he had also spoken about its confidentiality, so it was probably a good thing she had reacted without thought.

"Ginny, you're here!" she smiled, looking genuinely happy about the fact. But the redhead had heard all about her superb acting skills, and even though she returned the smile and greeting, she saw right through her disguise, or at least so she thought.

Because in truth, Astraea **was** delighted to see Ginny here. Draco had been right, her break-up with Ron had cost her the preposition she had given to Harry, as she now had nothing to negotiate with. Or at least that had been the case a moment ago. But Ginny's presence was like of gift from heaven, or perhaps hell since she was evil after all. Ron had been a good person to bargain with, but Ginny was tons better. Only she had to be subtle and careful because considering Harry's protectiveness about the Weasley girl, he might decide that it would be much safer to simply turn her over to Moody or something like that, and she couldn't let that happen, not with her still bound to the house.

"How are you doing?" she asked, trying to sound friendly yet indifferent, not to alert Potter before she had all the details figured out.

"The usual," Ginny shrugged. "School, lessons, homework, you know the drill. But how are you?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure?" she insisted. "With everything that has happened to you..."

"I'm alive," she replied with finality, turning away from the table and fixing herself a glass of Firewhiskey.

"Are you sure? You never drunk that stuff before," Ginny couldn't give up yet.

Astraea replied with a glare. She knew that the girl was probing the waters, testing her, perhaps hoping to see her crack, but that was not going to happen. Yet she wondered what kind of reaction was she expecting?

While Astraea was considering her reply, Lilya examined the girl from the corner of her eye. She remembered Ron's request from the day before, and now seemed a time as good as any. It looked like the girl was thinking about something, and this was the best moment to enter someone's mind unnoticed. Lilya concentrated and looked her straight in the eye, as conspicuously as she could.

"Something I picked up in Russia," she answered at last. "You want some?"

"Why not?" Ginny was ready to accept the challenge, yet Ron felt the need to intercept.

"No way!" he exclaimed. "Not in front of me, anyway. Mother will kill me if she ever finds out, and I'm ready to bet anything she will."

"You shouldn't be drinking either, Hermione," he added as an afterthought.

"You're probably right," she said, finishing her drink in one gulp and moving to wash up the glass.

Lilya finally looked away from her, repressing a shudder. Once again, she really needed to talk to Ron. Only she had no idea what she was going to tell him.

-----

**Hmm, yes, that's all for now. REVIEW and tell me who do you think the title refers to. :)**


	23. Chapter 23: Explosion

**Note: **Bad, bad Heptagon. Not updating for two whole months. But now I've got a new chapter ready, and it's long and it should be quite interesting and since I've already written the next one, as well, you won't have to wait too long for that. :)

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**Disclaimer:** Not mine.

-----**  
**

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 23: Explosion**  
In which confrontations take place, lots of yelling and a fair amount of dragging happens, and the situation becomes rather explosive._

It took a lot of yelling, crying and more crying from Molly, a remorseful homesick look from Ginny, and a few kind words from Remus for the youngest Weasley to get the permission to stay for the weekend. It was clear without saying, of course, (although Moody thought it better to say it anyway, at least thrice in a very loud voice) that should she ever do something like this again, she would be banned from the Order and its Headquarters for good.

"But she won't do it," Moody quickly added when Molly burst into hysterical tears once more.

"We mean it, Ginny," Harry was telling her afterwards. "If you ever do anything of the kind again, I will personally take away your wand, tie you to a chair, lock the door, and swallow the key."

"Of course," she nodded meekly, then hissed when Mrs. Weasley had turned her back on them, "You try, Harry, you try!"

"Oh, I intend to," he winked to her, and she grinned in return.

She had come here mostly because of Harry and all the problems he had told her about, but she couldn't deny that it felt so good to see her family again, to speak with them, to spend time with them, to make sure they were all alive and well. Yet once the first round of hugs had been given and taken, the most crucial news exchanged, and several more or less serious reprimands handed out, she excused herself from the dinner table, saying that she was tired from her long day. And it wasn't a lie, even though she had no intentions of going to sleep yet.

Harry seemed to get the message since he was knocking on her door only ten minutes after her departure. She asked him in and offered a seat on her bed, and for a while they sat there in silence, examining each other and thinking their own thoughts.

"Any news?" she finally asked.

"On what?" he sighed, rubbing his forehead.

"Has the... situation changed in any way?"

"She promised to leave Ron alone in exchange for removing my part of the charm," Harry recounted.

"And you agreed?"

"Not yet. It practically equals letting her go. Of course, Malfoy has to release her as well, but I'm ready to bet almost anything she just has to ask him for it."

Ginny nodded.

"You think she would do Ron serious harm?" she inquired.

"I don't know. One half of me says she wouldn't dare, but the other believes that she is capable of anything. I don't know. I just don't want her near him all the time, and playing with his feelings like that."

"True. But at least she won't be spending so much time with him anymore," she remarked.

"How so?" Harry frowned.

"Well, she did dump him."

"What?" he exclaimed, staring at her with wide eyes and open mouth, not believing his ears.

Ginny gave him an odd look.

"It's good to know you are so well informed of the things happening right under your nose. After all, I came from far away and only had a few moments to chat."

"When did that happen?" he questioned, too surprised to let her sarcasm disturb him.

"This morning, Harry."

"Well, I just got home," he defended himself. "Not that they'd bother telling me anything anyway, unless it's about Voldemort or they need me for something. Or both. And tonight was the first time Ron talked to me in I don't know how long. And it doesn't strike as a topic he would gladly discuss. Who told you about it?"

"Mum. Made sure I wouldn't say anything inappropriate. He's still healing from all this and everything. Hey, perhaps that's why he acted so weird. Didn't smack you or anything," she suggested.

"She dumped him," Harry frowned. "Why would she do that? He was her only ace."

"That you know of," Ginny corrected. "There might be something else up her sleeve, too."

"A couple of knives, for example," he muttered.

"I don't think she would hurt us. She is not some insane maniac after all our blood. She's smart and calculative. She does what's best for her, and killing one of us isn't."

"I wish I could tie her to a chair, lock the door, and swallow the key," Harry sighed.

"Perhaps you should let her go," she mused after a while. "She doesn't know that much more than before even if she goes to Voldemort with the information."

"I doubt that," he shook his head, surprising her a bit with those words. "But she might tell Zabini, and he can go to Voldemort. Or she could use it in some other way to harm us. Or she could... get herself hurt."

"She can look after herself," Ginny reassured. "She'll go to some faraway place and stay there until the war is over and everything calms down."

Harry stared into the space for a few moments.

"I do worry that she might harm us," he spoke at last. "And I know she's not herself. But perhaps... with time... I might be too optimistic, it's probably irreversible. But I have a hunch that if we let her leave, we will never see her again."

"We can track her down," Ginny said with conviction. "I know she's smart and everything, but so are we, and there are many of us. Once the war is over, we will find her."

"If we're still alive," Harry added darkly.

"We are," she insisted. "And we will find her. And we will heal her, and everything will be all right."

"Well, you're definitely the optimist here, aren't you?"

"Someone has to be," she said with a small smile.

"But there's another thing," Harry argued, not yet ready to believe in their little happy ending. "She's dangerous. Not only to us, but to the rest of the world. She could kill in a heartbeat. It's like we're letting loose a known murderer."

Ginny opened her mouth to answer, but closed it again. He was right. She might and probably would kill people on her road from here to wherever she wanted to go. Not because she was some blood-thirsty monster, but because it would benefit her in some way. And it didn't feel very kind to point out that then she would be killing some _other_ people instead of endangering those near and dear to them.

"What do you suggest then?" she inquired. "You can't keep the situation the way it is. It's destined to blow up sooner or later. Probably sooner."

"I don't know," he said with another heavy sigh. "Perhaps I should tell Moody. Or at least Remus. Or someone."

"You do know that Moody would interrogate her?"

"It might help. Even she can't fight Veritaserum."

"There are other things he uses on his prisoners," she spoke in a very quiet voice.

"I know," he replied in whisper. "But he wouldn't kill her."

Ginny didn't know what to say. They had just more or less sentenced their friend to first-class torture. Or what was left of their friend. But it was still more than enough. There had to be another way.

She said as much.

"Let's go to bed," Harry suggested at that. "Perhaps we will figure something out tomorrow."

Ginny nodded. The idea sounded good.

"Could you stay with me?" she asked, now sounding genuinely meek. "I'd feel much safer."

"Your family will not like it," Harry shook his head, thinking mostly of Ron.

"Then don't tell them."

But before either of them managed to fall asleep, a loud yelling reached their ears.

"Now what?" Harry mumbled grumpily. He had had a long day, as well, and it felt like heaven lying there with the girl he loved in his arms.

"You don't think it's... Voldemort?" she turned to look at him in horror.

"I doubt they would waste their strength on yelling in that case," he commented. "But I'd better go and see what the matter is."

"You mean we'd better go and see," Ginny corrected him.

---

All the commotion came from two people yelling at each other at the top of their voices, despite the lateness of the hour. Also, these two people weren't the ones who would be expected to have a yelling match at whatever time. In fact, no one had managed to keep shouting at Moody for so long. Till now.

"He said he would be back!!! He's not back!!! You stupid old bastard, you sent him out to die, just like Hermione. So far you have already managed to get two of us killed, and they still let you rule the Order!!! You should be locked up somewhere!!!"

Millicent didn't look like stopping anytime soon, and neither did she look abatable. Moody didn't seem particularly happy either. He probably wasn't used to people yelling at him for so long. Or perhaps it was the fact that she had managed to disarm him, and not the other way around, and this kind of rebellion was clearly not to be tolerated.

"I should have never joined you!!!" the girl was screaming. "At least the Dark Lord takes care of his followers."

She had crossed the line now, and her sentence hung in the air like something morbid and vile. But Milla herself was too angry, too out of herself to notice this.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Moody boomed, quieting everyone thanks to his loud voice again, although the murderous look in his eyes played an important role, as well. Even Millicent gave up her yells, choosing to glare at the old wizard instead. The tension was heavy and palpable.

"No, he doesn't," someone said at last, a quiet voice heard perfectly in the overwhelming silence. "He doesn't give a damn about his followers, as long as he has enough of them to send to death as he pleases. And he plays with them, whenever he is in a bad mood, or in a good one. He tortures them for his pleasure. To keep them loyal, he says, but it's just a bonus. He likes to see them in pain. You may not know it, since you were lucky enough not to be this close to him, but listen to someone who knows exactly what he's talking about."

Slowly Millicent was coming out of her haze of rage, and slowly she started to comprehend what had just happened, what she had spoken, and what had been said to her. And slowly but surely came the realization that she might have made a mistake.

"Erm... sorry?"

This was more of a question than expressing true, honest regret. But Milla simply wasn't the kind of person who apologized to people, unless in extreme situations, and this seemed to be one of those. For example, the expression on Moody's face still promised extreme punishment.

"Let her go, Alastor," Draco continued, standing between her friend and the man he had never before called by his first name. "She is just worried."

Nothing about Moody indicated to his relenting, but since he wasn't making a move either, Draco simply grabbed Millicent's hand and started to drag her away. The old Auror didn't stop them.

---

"Worried about what?" Ginny questioned once they were back in her room away from mad old Mad-Eye.

"Neville," Harry stated. "He's on a mission to get some plant, and should be back very soon."

"Is he all right?" she asked in horror.

"Hopefully. He's got backup."

"Will she be all right?"

"Bulstrode? Yes, probably. She did say sorry, didn't she? And Moody let her go. Of course, I wouldn't be surprised if she was sent away for a couple of days."

"No, not that," Ginny snapped. "I mean, will she be all right? Mentally?"

"She's tough. And Malfoy's there to comfort her," he said, thinking back to another scene quite similar to this, only then Bulstrode was the one doing the comforting.

"Perhaps I should still check up on her."

---

And that was why a rather reluctant Harry and a very stubborn Ginny knocked on Millicent's door a few moments later.

They were answered by silence.

"She's asleep. Let's go away."

"No."

She knocked again, and then spoke a bit louder,

"Millicent, can we come in?"

"Let's go," Harry repeated, but she shushed him as quiet footsteps sounded from the other side of the door, which was soon pushed open.

"Millicent, we..." she started, but this time it was her who got shushed.

"She's sleeping," Draco said, softly closing the door behind him. "Gave her some Dreamless Sleep Potion, that should help."

"Is she all right?"

"She's tired and worried," he sighed. "And I don't think it was entirely her fault. By what I managed to pick out of her speech, Moody said something to her."

"Like what?" Ginny asked, now a bit more curious than worried. Moody had indeed acted very strangely.

"I don't know. Something about her and Longbottom, I suppose. Perhaps hinted it was her fault if he didn't come back."

"Why would he say anything like that?" she gasped, her curiosity turning to incredulous surprise.

"Well, it's not like I know what's going on in Old Halfnose's mind, but he's probably worried as well. Afraid that perhaps he did send another person to death."

"Old Halfnose?" Harry wondered, but it went unheard as Ginny let out a small frightened scream.

"You think it's that bad? He might be dead?"

"I don't know. Halfnose gave him backup. But this is war."

_But this is war. _

This one sentence told them everything they didn't really want to hear.

"What did you want from her?" Draco suddenly questioned, perhaps taking notice of their weird little company and remembered how it came to be.

"We just came to see whether she's all right," Ginny stated, daring him to doubt her good intentions.

But instead of doing any of the kind, he simply nodded in acceptance, then turned his glance to Harry.

"I'm escorting her," he explained, receiving another nod.

"There's not much we could do for her now," Draco said. "Hopefully Longbottom gets back in the morning."

"Hopefully," Ginny repeated.

"Hopefully," echoed Harry.

---

"Is she all right?"

Draco opened his mouth to answer, thinking in a good kind of surprise that so many people cared about Millicent, when he suddenly recognized the voice.

"What do you want?"

"I'm just asking whether she is all right," Astraea replied in fake hurt tones.

"Why?"

"Can't I worry about her?"

"You tried to kill her," Draco stated coldly.

"No, I didn't. She tried to kill me."

"But you started it all. You wanted to test her fighting skills only to find out that she's stronger than you. It might have been quite a shock."

It had been. Of course, at that time she was being strangled to death as well, so the shock had had to wait. But she had thought about it later and came to a realization she didn't like a bit.

She had considered herself the strongest. Only the strong survive, and she had no weaknesses. And then someone proved her wrong. And when she **really** thought about this, she recalled that the three boys had managed to gain victory over her and Blaise. Later she had to fight all three alone, but she remembered clearly that they were disarmed. She had all the wands, Weasley was under the Imperius Curse, Malfoy had just been hit by a Cruciatus, and Potter was helplessly lying on the floor. She had held all the cards. Yet before she managed to kill him, someone had kicked her off, and very soon she had been the one who was wandless and surrounded.

Her strength did not lie in her strength, but rather in others' weaknesses. They loved her. They didn't want to hurt her. They held themselves back. They didn't use their full force against her, and that's why she could beat them. But should they attack with all they'd got, she might not get away so easily.

Thanks to their weaknesses she was stronger. But her position wasn't safe. It threatened to collapse every moment, and she had to be free of her bonds when that happened.

They loved her. How could she trust something she had no faith in? She didn't believe in love, she didn't deal with love, but it was love that made her strong. How could she trust it to last if she considered it worthless? It was a Curse. But people can fight curses, and they can overcome them.

"She told me something else," he continued. "Something odd. Something about me still having a chance with you."

"She's delusional," Astraea sneered.

"Yes, she probably made a mistake."

She thought she heard a crack. A metaphorical crack, but still a crack. A post holding up her position had just broken. He was giving up. And she couldn't let that happen. He was all she had left, the last person on her side, someone on whom she could depend, and...

Had she just thought **that**? All she had left, on her side, depend... No, no, that was not the right way. She needed nobody, she depended on no one. She had herself and her skills and that was all she required. She didn't need him. She didn't.

She didn't need the one person who was still loyal to her despite everything.

She didn't. She didn't. She didn't.

"She's delusional," she repeated, turned around, and quickly walked away.

Draco smiled to himself. He didn't believe Millicent yet, but perhaps...

Perhaps there was something – if not hope, then at least hope of hope.

---

He hadn't expected the sword. He was a wizard, after all, but he seemed to handle the sword even better than a wand. The sword was curved. Not that it mattered, but it was.

And that was the thing. He hadn't expected the sword. He wasn't ready for it. And that was the lesson he had to learn. He did. He also felt a lot safer knowing that those were the men watching his back while he was picking flowers.

But the sword was a surprise. In his efforts to get away from it, he had hit his attacker with the vessel that held the Morgana Flower. It had stopped him, at least for long enough for him to get away, but at the same time the container had shattered, the spell had broken, and his precious flower had turned to dust. Neville needed another dawn.

He was alive, though, and smarter. Always expect the unexpected. Always expect everything.

Harry thought Millicent was the spy. He trusted Harry. He loved Millicent. All the clues seemed to be pointing to her. He couldn't let innocent people die because of him being gullible. He had to consider this. He had to.

Neville loved Millicent. But he trusted her no more. The desert was beautiful but treacherous, just like Morgana's Fate. Just like his fate.

He shook his head to clear it. The desert encouraged strange thoughts. He would be glad to get back.

---

"I've got an idea."

"Hmm, is it something that would make Ron want to kill you again?" she smiled mischievously.

"Well, no," Harry almost managed to suppress his blush. "It's about what we discussed yesterday."

"It's something serious?"

"Yes."

"I **hate** having serious discussions in the morning!" she whined.

"Wasn't it your suggestion to go to sleep and continue our talks in the morning?" he asked, amused, smiling at her sleepy behaviour.

"No, it was yours. But it's still a good idea, Harry. So let's go back to sleep."

He didn't say a thing, just kissed her forehead, but he didn't take her advice either.

"I can't sleep when you're looking at me like this," she complained after a while.

"Like what?"

"Like you want to tell me all about your brilliant idea really bad."

"I just need your help," he said simply, ignoring the mocking tones of her voice.

"But it won't make Ron angry," she spoke a bit disappointedly, as if enraging his brother was something she had been dreaming about in every History of Magic class.

"It'll probably make Malfoy angry," Harry offered. "At least with one of us."

"Really?" Raising her head, Ginny looked him in the eye, and getting the confirmation she wanted, demanded, "Tell me!"

---

What happened at the dinner that day was just the tip of the iceberg, and only the knowledge of a promising show, and its results that were so important to everyone, even to those who knew nothing about the terrible secret kept from them, stopped Ginny from complaining for having to spend all the day so far in the Library Room doing 'homework'.

It hadn't been a piece of cherry pie looking for an unknown spell undoing the unknown alleviating spell for a curse neither of them knew very much about. Then again, even put together Harry and Ginny didn't form Hermione when it came to her walking encyclopedia skills, and therefore they were rather accustomed to not knowing a spell. As it was, they got lucky, especially Harry, who also got an extra creamy cream-cake from Molly, who had, after moderate spying behind the door, stormed in on them and quite unexpectedly found him doing nothing more than helping her daughter with homework. Which was actually 'homework', but Mrs. Weasley had remained blissfully ignorant of that.

But after thorough research, or at least what they called thorough but Hermione would have probably called minimal, they happened upon a book of love potions and magical bindings, which fortunately included the one they had been looking for and provided all the information they needed. The counter-spell in itself had been ridiculously easy, at least when compared to the original spell, which looked not only bloody complicated but also painful. This gave them some doubts, but at the same time it was all they had.

And now the table had been laid, and everyone had arrived and taken their seat, oblivious of what was going to happen to them tonight to make yet another dinner interesting.

---

Millicent was not at the dinner. The potion had made her sleep almost till noon, and she was lucky enough to wake up to a better world. Neville had arrived a few hours ago, to the relief of the whole Order, and no one could say that Moody was not there to welcome him back. In fact, although this was not known to others, he was perhaps more relieved than anyone else, save Milla, because he knew the truth about the incident that had delayed him.

Astraea had been right about the ambush – those three wizards sent to guard Neville were supposed to get into a fake fight with him in Ghardaïa, but by the facts Moody had gathered from the boy, the fight had been anything but fake. And those three foreign wizards had not reported back yet. They were loyal to him and the Order, and therefore the only logical assumption didn't speak in their favour. Perhaps they were still alive, but he doubted that.

The final confrontation was approaching quickly, but it still felt too slow for him. It was crucial not to rush, not to act before being ready, but he had a nasty suspicion that if things continued the same way, all his warriors would be dead before the deciding battle.

He was proud of the boy, though. He had managed to survive. He had fought real enemy and escaped unscathed, save a few minor scratches. Moody swore to himself that this was the last time he punished anyone like that, no matter what they did. Bad discipline would lose the battle, but the shortage of fighters would do it, as well.

---

He had brought her yellow tulips.

He had stood in her doorway, a sheepish and apologetic smile on his face, a bouquet of yellow tulips in his extended hand.

He had no idea what she felt at the moment, and she made sure not to reveal it to him. But as she now looked at him sleeping in her bed, Millicent was ready to give her life for him. He already had her heart and soul, even though he probably didn't know it.

---

Harry leaned back in his seat, making appreciative sounds and stretching himself after the hearty meal. No one paid him much attention, and this was good because it wasn't all he was currently doing. By his side Ginny sat up a bit straighter, moving closer to the table and giving him a clear shot at Malfoy, who was sitting at her other side.

They didn't know whether he could feel the spell, but they reckoned that he probably would since people usually felt getting hit by a spell, and thus needed to execute the second part of their plan before he managed to protest. Harry gave her a small nod, and as he slid out his wand and aimed, she picked up her cup of tea and took a sip. It was burning hot, and she felt a bit sorry for Malfoy, and then for them once he figured things out. Harry had been wrong. Malfoy would not get angry with only one of them – he was too smart for that. But they did it for him, and for the greater good. Surely he would understand. Eventually.

She heard Harry muttering and knew without looking that by now he had snapped his head in the other direction, observing someone else. She suppressed her own urge to take a peek and instead reached her hand over the table for something, only in the process of grasping it, her other hand wavered, and the teacup she had been holding accidentally slipped from her fingers, pouring her left-hand neighbour over with the scalding liquid.

To her surprise, Malfoy's only reaction at being drenched by hot water was a barely noticeable flinch, as if it had been him who needed to hide his feelings. Of course, the flinch was still enough, and should Astraea respond in the same way, Harry's sharp eye would definitely catch it. As to the situation with Malfoy, however, the fuss she had expected didn't follow, and instead of her planned "I'm so sorry!" she only gave him a sheepish yet apologetic look. He glared at her, then turned away, apparently dismissing the situation for later. Only now was Ginny able to take that peek, although even if there had been something to see, she was sure the moment had passed.

Astraea was sitting in her seat, sipping her drink as if nothing had happened, looking quite oblivious of being stared at. But she wasn't oblivious. Not only did she feel their gazes on her, she had seen Harry cast the spell, and she had spied on the two before, just like Molly, but she had discovered a bit more.

It was a clever plan, she had to admit it. And now they were both looking at her, searching for that one line in her expression that would speak of repressed pain. Fools! One cup of boiling water was nothing compared to the things Pansy had used on her, or the simple Cruciatus Curse. Even if she had felt something, she was perfectly capable of not showing it to anyone. But as she didn't feel a thing, there was no need to suppress anything. Except for a triumphant smile, that is. She had won. She hadn't felt a thing. The Curse had been broken once and for all. She hadn't felt a thing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

And then suddenly an idea hit her, shaking the metaphorical platform she was standing on. She didn't feel a thing, but perhaps she should have pretended to feel something? It would have proven them that there was some last piece of her former self somewhere deep inside, it would have given them hope, and it might have given her freedom. Now they thought her thoroughly evil, didn't they? They saw her as a completely different person who had absolutely nothing to do with Hermione. And even though it was true, was it in her best interest to let them think so? After all, if she was a stranger to them, an enemy, and their last hopes of her breaking through this new and ruthless core had been crushed, what stopped them from giving her over to authorities, revealing her secret they had been keeping so long to Moody and all the others?

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

She felt like bashing her head against the wall at her own stupidity. And she had been spying on Potter and his little sweetheart, she had smirked at their plans, and prepared herself for this very moment when it would fail and all their hope would be gone. It was supposed to be her victory, only now it seemed to be turning into her doom. And why had she felt the need to prepare herself for something she knew was never going to happen? She knew their plan was not going to work, she knew she would feel nothing. Then why had she prepared for a test about which she knew not only that she was going to pass it, but also that her failing was impossible?

Gah! It was this house, and being kept here against her will. Even Blaise had allowed her to go out for a walk. A refreshing walk in the freezing air was a big help to clearing her head. But the back yard of this place only emphasized the aura of imprisonment. She had to get out, and she had to get out now.

"I'm full," Astraea announced to the whole kitchen. "The dinner was wonderful, Mrs. Weasley."

"Are you sure you don't want one more slice of pie?" Molly offered.

"One more slice would make me explode," she laughed good-naturedly, nothing in her demeanour hinting to her inner debates, fears, and resolutions, or to her being anything else but a kind-hearted young woman.

At the door she stopped and looked back.

"Gin, if you're finished I'd like to have a chat with you," she spoke with a smile.

"I'm done, 'Mione," the redhead replied, jumping to her feet, ignoring the warning look Harry was giving her. "It's been a while since we last had a decent chat."

"I'm coming with you," he quickly said, not wanting to leave her girlfriend alone with Astraea, but with a laughing "It's girl's stuff" this devil ruined his plans.

"See you later, Harry," Ginny nodded.

He got her unspoken message and sat back down, letting them go, but he was not a bit happy about it. In fact, he only managed to sit still for a couple of minutes before excusing himself from the table and breaking into a silent run as soon as he was out of the room.

---

In the Library Room, Ginny and Astraea had taken a seat and were currently giving each other a contemplating glance.

"What do you want?" the redhead finally demanded, not in very friendly tones.

"To have a chat with you," she replied, her voice calm and neutral.

"About what?" Ginny spat, but continued almost immediately, "why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?" Astraea inquired, hiding her small surprise at the other girl's fiery behaviour. She knew that Potter had not kept her secret from the youngest Weasley, but hadn't expected this kind of open verbal attack either.

"You have to have a reason!" she almost shouted, all the unanswered questions pouring out of her now that she had the chance to ask them. "You have to have an aim, a purpose. You can't be just evil! I know Hermione, she would have never done this unless she had a reason. Unless there was no other way. She needed this wicked exterior for something. She needed **you **for something. So why, why are you doing this!?"

"This is not just an exterior – this is what I am now," she replied, half-amused at her 'friend' losing herself like this. The famous Weasley temper, wasn't it?

"Yes, but why? Why?" Ginny demanded, staring at her companion with wild eyes, slightly out of breath, as if this answer would solve all the problems of the world.

"Only the strong have the right to survive," Astraea shrugged, not understanding why one should get all this emotional over this. Harry and the others had been relatively calm when they questioned her, or angry. But the redhead did not seem angry, just very intent and desperate. And the look she was giving her suggested that more important than her getting the desired answers was making Astraea realize something. The only thing Astraea did realize was that Ginny had not given up on her yet, but at the same time she wasn't far from doing so. It seemed that she had hope left even when the last of it had been demolished.

"Yes, but why, Astraea, why? Why, Hermione? Why do you need to survive? You must have to have a reason, an aim, a purpose! You can't survive just for surviving! You need to have something to survive for."

"I think..." she started, but didn't get any further.

"Everybody has a purpose! The Order wants to defeat Voldemort, Lord Voldemort wants to rule the world, I want Harry to survive the war! What do you want?"

Astraea opened her mouth.

"And don't tell me you want to survive!" Ginny cut in once again. "You must have something you want to survive for, to live for. Life must have some purpose, something good to enjoy, or something bad to fight. You need to have, you must have that something. So why, why are you doing this, Astraea? What is your purpose, Hermione? Why? Why? Why!!?"

The redhead was starting to get hysterical, and she thought it better to bring an end to this before her yelling would raise them an audience.

"This is getting boring," Astraea stated coldly and drew her wand. Her first spell was to Silence the room, only then did she point it at her opponent, who, despite having had ample time for it, had not drawn her own.

"I'm not going to fight with you," she declared. "If you don't want to listen to me, then you should have said so."

Suppressing the urge to throw her hands in the air in frustration and roll her eyes, Astraea simply raised a brow, keeping her silence and not lowering the wand.

Ginny, having jumped up during her shouting now slumped back to her seat, looking defeated.

"Fine, don't listen to me," she muttered. "Like you ever did it, anyway."

This time Astraea allowed herself a laugh.

"You haven't changed a bit, Gin."

"Too bad I can't say it about you, 'Mione."

There was something in the silence that followed. It wasn't an understanding, or a deal, but Astraea decided then and there that she would not harm the girl, unless it was in her best interest, of course. And Ginny, even though far from giving up despite her sullen look, was done with talking for this time.

"It seems our talk is over," the Weasley girl commented after a while. "Unless you..."

"No," came the curt reply.

"I'll go then. See you later."

Astraea nodded, and Ginny stood up to leave, only to jump in surprise as the door to the Library Room was suddenly blasted open, revealing an armed and dangerous-looking Harry. It had taken him a while to find them, and during that time of running around the house and checking all the rooms he had managed to work himself up, getting one horrible idea after another. He should have never let her go with that monster, that devil! If something happened to her, if _she_ did something... by the time he reached the Library Room's door, all reasonable thinking had left him.

Astraea reacted as soon as she saw the wand in Harry's hand, and that wasn't a moment too soon because he had also noticed hers, which was still directed at Ginny.

"Harry, put the..." was all the redhead managed to say before she was roughly grabbed by her arm, and then there was something pressed none too gently against her right temple.

"Drop it or she dies," someone hissed into her ear, and she saw Harry turn pale.

"You hurt her and I kill you," he growled, keeping his wand steady.

"By that time, however, she is already dead."

"I'm warning you, Astraea..."

"No, I'm warning you, Potter. Your Killing Curse will probably fail, but you've seen me cast Unforgivables before."

Harry glared at her, murder and hate reflecting from his green eyes.

"Harry, lower the wand," Ginny tried to amend the situation before it would get out of the hand, but by his look and her grip, it already had.

"What do you want?" he suddenly demanded.

"Remove the charm," was Astraea's immediate answer.

Harry nodded and waved his wand.

"And if you try something..."

Her warning was needless. Harry was too afraid to try anything. Her earlier remark had hit the mark – he had seen her cast Unforgivables, and he wasn't going to risk her casting another one, especially when the victim would be his beloved.

Gritting his teeth and making dark decisions, he spoke the correct incantations, releasing her from his share of bonds.

"Let her go," he demanded, as soon as he had brought Astraea one more step closer to her desired freedom.

"Put away your wand first."

"Let her go," Harry said once more, making it clear that he was going to hold his position until that condition had been met. "You got what you want, now let her go."

"I can't," she spoke, trying and almost failing to keep her voice level. "You know I can't. You'll curse me the moment I've let her go."

"Let her go, or I will not be responsible for my actions," he promised.

She glared at him, not making a move, analyzing the situation she had managed to get herself into. Harry had undone the charm and that was good, but by the look in his eyes, he was going to do a lot more to her.

"Send out your Patronus," she finally spoke. "Get Draco here."

"Do it, Harry," Ginny prompted him, grasping the last straw herself. She didn't fear for her life, no, she was quite sure that Astraea was not going to harm her. Harry was the danger here. He was the catalyst to their explosive potion. He was losing it, he was losing it for her, but that didn't change a thing. And the thing was that he seemed so close to firing the first spell, but that could not happen. Her two best friends, no matter the circumstances, could not fight each other. No matter the situation, no matter the outcome, this had to be prevented at all cost.

"Do it, Harry," she repeated, pleading him with her eyes.

For a moment he stood absolutely still, and she feared for the worst, but then he sighed, and after a few muttered words the silver stag leapt from the tip of his wand and disappeared into the hallway.

And now there was nothing left but to wait. Astraea and Harry were silent, and even Ginny didn't dare to speak a word. She was desperately trying to find a way out of this, a way that did not include any more spells being cast, but even with the presence of Malfoy, the situation still seemed as dangerous as ever.

Astraea was once again preparing herself. There was a chance she was going to fight her way out, but that was not what she preferred. Contrary to what one may think giving her attitude, she was wishing for a peaceful solution just as much as Ginny, although for slightly different reasons. She was still bound to this house, which was currently full of Order members, and she was realistic enough to understand that she could not fight them all. Even Potter posed a substantial threat to her, especially in such a mood. This was the true test, and she wasn't sure she was going to pass. Her platform would either hold or it would crash. And it all depended on, and this was so ironic she almost laughed, Draco's love and loyalty to her. The love and loyalty she had mocked, tainted, and taken advantage of at every possibility; the love and loyalty she had laughed at, ridiculed, and proved the usefulness of at every turn. And now this same love and loyalty that she had violated for her own sick pleasure was all that could save her. She suppressed another urge to laugh.

Harry, for one, was not thinking, but trying to calm down, something that so far had proved impossible. He needed a clear head for this, he couldn't go insane with rage while his opponent was cool and collected. Once Ginny was away and safe, he was going to show this Zabini bitch exactly what happened to people who dared to threaten the one dearest to him. Once Ginny was away and safe, he would go insane with rage, but not before. Calm and collected. Calm and collected. Yet it still proved rather impossible.

"Potter, what do you want?"

Heaving a deep sigh, he realized he had probably never before been this glad to see Malfoy. Unbeknownst to him, Ginny and even Astraea were silently agreeing.

The look Potter was giving him clearly indicated trouble, if his sending a Patronus inside the house like that hadn't been enough. True, it wasn't the first time he had done that, but the Order had quickly banned using this method for anything less than a real emergency. One peek into the room, however, informed Draco that Potter had not broken the said rule.

After the dinner table incident, namely Ginny 'accidentally' pouring him over with hot tea, he had had rather many things to ponder. The spell's touch had been feather light, and never having felt it before, he dismissed it as nothing. Ginny's little accident, however, didn't seem this innocent to him, especially with her guilty look afterwards. Not coming up with any reasonable explanation only meant he thought more about it, and he had been still wondering quite fruitlessly when Harry's Patronus had found and summoned him.

The situation he had been called to did not look one bit good. Inside the room Astraea was holding Ginny in her iron grip, wand against her temple, and at the threshold Potter seemed to be one hair from madness. Glancing from one to another, he couldn't decide this quickly which of them was posing more danger at the moment. But the overall peril was dancing before his eyes and hammering against his skull.

"Now let her go," Harry broke the silence.

"Lower your wand," Astraea demanded, but the next moment she had already pushed Ginny away from her, and as Harry's next spell proved, managed to put up a Shield.

"Harry, don't!" the redhead cried, and in the absence of a better plan she ran to hug him, preventing him from casting any spells and getting hit by those coming from Astraea at the same time. Realizing this, he tried to push her away, but as she refused to let go, his only option was to take both of them over the threshold into the corridor.

Once out of the danger, he allowed himself to hold her, to hide his face into her hair and pull her even closer to him, but even this bliss couldn't change the decision he had made.

"We are going to Moody," he announced, loud enough for everybody to hear, and quickly proceeded along the hallway, dragging a somewhat reluctant Ginny with him.

Draco had not drawn his wand, and neither did he do it now, closing the door and leaning his back against it, alone with her once again.

"He's going to Moody," Astraea said, a faint note of panic in her tone.

He gave her a long contemplating gaze, one that managed to make her quite restless, despite the fact that she was holding a wand and he wasn't, and that restless was something she usually didn't allow herself to become.

"Did he release you?" he suddenly asked.

"Yes."

"We better go then before Moody and the rest get here," he spoke calmly, extending his hand for her.

"What? Where? Unleash me!" she demanded, too confused and surprised to hide it.

"Trust me," was all he said, and before she could laugh at this absurd suggestion, he had walked up to her, grabbed her arm, and was now dragging her out of the room and down the hallway, much in the same way Harry and Ginny had left.

"No," she protested, sounding weak to her own ears, but she didn't stop him. Sweet Circe, she didn't stop him.

* * *

**:D Liked it? Like to review? Well, I'd certainly like you to review. :D**


	24. Chapter 24: Farewell

**Note: **Now this chapter is preposterously short, but at least I didn't keep you waiting forever. As to the story, it's nearing its end. Three more chapters to go, excluding this one, I think.

Also, I think I should explain a bit of the last chapter to you. That bit about Harry hitting Draco with a spell. Several people have asked my about it and I agree that I was little too vague about it. Remember the bond of love - Curse of the Weak - between Hermione and Draco? Anyway, it let him feel her pain and her feel his pain. But Draco blocked his end of it meaning that his pain did not hurt Hermione. And later, kept in prison by Blaise, Hermione did the same. As Hermione became Astraea, however, the bond was broken altogether as Astraea didn't love Draco. Or at least that's what she was saying. But Harry was thinking that perhaps there is still some little part of Hermione inside Astraea, perhaps she hasn't changed completely, perhaps the bond is still there. So they ran a test. When I wrote that they were looking for "an unknown spell undoing the unknown alleviating spell for a curse neither of them knew very much about" then the curse was the Curse of the Weak, the alleviating spell the one Draco used to block his end of the bond so that Hermione wouldn't feel his pain and the spell undoing it would be one to unblock Draco's end and make Hermione feel his pain. So Harry and Ginny were testing the bond - if it still existed then Astraea should feel the pain caused by Ginny pouring Draco over with hot tea. Ah, I hope this explanation made some sense.

As to this chapter, I didn't get it betaed. I did read it through several times trying to be extra careful but it's near impossible to notice all the mistakes. I hope it doesn't bother you too much. :)

-----

**Everything To Lose**

**_Chapter 24: Farewell_**  
_In which bonds are broken and wards are smashed._

Because he had a plan. And who was she to stop a man with a plan, especially when this plan seemed to be working in her favour. Should it prove otherwise, she would put an end to both the man and the plan. After all, she had her wand drawn and he hadn't.

On their rather short path to the fireplace Astraea willed herself calm. Staying confused would not do her any good, thus the feeling had to be cast off. Neither was she going to demand an explanation or ask questions, not even when he prepared to Floo them away, but she remained alert and ready to jump out of the flames in case their destination happened to be something like the dungeons of Azkaban.

It would be a lie to claim that she hadn't said a couple of disdainful words about the place she let him take her to, but it didn't get anywhere near the dungeons of Azkaban, as she had made sure at one time. It was the same apartment she had spent her first days after Murmansk in, it was the same apartment that had once been hers. Hers and his.

She sat down to the sofa and let her eyes wander around the room, noticing the signs of neglect and absent, but the untidiness wasn't her concern and she didn't let it bother her either. Instead she watched him close the Floo connection and put up several wards, holding him at wandpoint the entire time, should he turn his own against her.

"This should keep them back," Draco remarked, tossing his wand to the sofa by her side once he was finished with setting up the wards. "At least for a little while."

"When did you unleash me?" she inquired, twirling the second wand between her fingers.

"I didn't. It's the spell itself. The Latin word 'domus' means both house and home. We all concentrated on the house, but the spell also connected our homes."

"Because you are linked to your homes, even when you don't think about them consciously," Astraea nodded. "So I could have come here all this time, or gone to the Burrow or Hogwarts."

She didn't say this with regret or anger at the opportunity lost, even though she would have used this chance, had she known about it before. But before was over, and now it bore no importance any longer.

"I doubt it," he said. "We all bound you to the house, and that bond was the strongest. Only now that the other two have been removed, you are equally connected to this place and Grimmauld, and that's why you can come here."

"You didn't tell Harry and Ron about this," she smirked, noting the fact.

"They didn't need to know," Draco shrugged. "But Potter will check this place first."

"It was foolish of him to trust you to keep me there until he got back with Moody and the others," she snorted. "And even if you hadn't been so willing to betray him, I would have beaten you anyway."

"You aren't as observant as you think if that's your true opinion," he graced her with a sly teasing look. "You should have realized he was letting you go from the way he loudly announced his decision of telling Moody and then just left. I expect him to give you a little more time to get your things together and go. He would have never left me alone with you if he had wanted to keep you there."

"I underestimated his weakness," she mused. "The better for me."

"He's a lot stronger than I would have thought," he admitted, saying it like he was agreeing to her statement despite it being quite the opposite.

"Having a strong weakness doesn't make a person strong."

"I don't think I would have managed that, had I been in his position," he continued to wonder, ignoring her words. "I think I would have killed you. Imagine this, I'm weaker than Potter."

"Good, good," Astraea said, taking advantage of his zoning out. "Now release me."

"You have my wand, release yourself," he said in the same faraway tones, but his eyes were concentrated on her, as alert as ever. And she realized he was not only faking detachment but also right. She didn't need him to unleash her from the bonds, not when she had his wand. And now that she did, she was as good as free. She could leave this very minute and never return.

And that's why it made her a bit uneasy that she remained sitting on the sofa while Moody and his gang could come breaking through the wards at any moment.

"You're not leaving," he commented on the fact.

"How much time do I have?"

"Half an hour, perhaps more. I suppose it takes a while for Potter to convince everyone that you're actually evil," he replied, smirking a bit at Harry's difficult task.

"Half an hour," she repeated, weighing an idea in her mind. It was preposterous, foolish, idiotic, dangerous, and totally unnecessary. It was a risk she couldn't take, not when she was this close to her desired freedom. It was her last obstacle, last temptation, last weakness. She was too close to victory to let one stupid wish destroy it.

---

"Hermione, Astraea, what are you doing?" He knew it was a stupid question even before asking it, but what had happened in the last few minutes and still continued to happen was something he hadn't imagined even in his wildest fantasies. Or perhaps it would be correct to say that he **had** imagined it in his wildest fantasies, yet never ever expected it to come true.

"Shut up," she replied sharply, but not all the anger in her voice was directed at him. Of course, it was partly his fault. He had been the one to suggest that she go get a few things she might need on her journey, and he had followed her to the bedroom when she went to rummage through the wardrobe and drawers. If he hadn't done it, she wouldn't have pushed him to the bed, climbed on top of him, and yielded to her last temptation.

She didn't love him, but she wanted him, and it seemed like she desired him more than her freedom, which was stupid and insane and she was probably going to regret it. But even these thoughts couldn't stop her from taking what she wanted.

Draco made his last desperate attempt at pushing her away, but realized his mistake when he saw the fire burning in her eyes as she looked straight into his. But he still tried to be rational, something she had given up on.

Stretching out his arm he picked up one of the wands from the nightstand, it didn't matter which one because he was doing the casting, and with a few muttered words he removed the last remaining cord of the charm that held her in bonds.

"Go. You're free," he whispered, silently thinking that he was not that much weaker than Potter if he was able to do this. "You don't have to..."

Astraea wanted to yell out of frustration, and right now she might have even allowed herself to do this, yet it would have wasted too much of her precious time.

"I know," she growled instead. "But I want to."

Straightening her back, she grabbed hold of the hem of her shirt and pulled it off, then took a moment to give him a look of passion and rage.

"I hate you," she declared before bending down again and giving her passion a free reign.

---

Making love to him was one thing, but Draco never expected her to lie quietly in his arms afterwards, letting him gently stroke her hair.

It gave him a blissful feeling and thoughts that were actually happy, but whatever angle he approached the subject from, he couldn't kept the image of an enraged Moody dragging her away from him entering his mind.

Perhaps it wasn't too late yet, perhaps he could still go and stop Potter from revealing her secret to everyone. But even then this was only a start, unless he was completely wrong about her and this was only Astraea's another attempt to inflict maximum hurt upon him. Maybe she was going to kill him. Strangely, this thought did not bother him as much as it could have.

And then there was this other thing. The war. The battle. Keeping her with him would probably mean her fighting with them, or against them, but in either case fighting. From fighting, however, there was only one small step to dying. And if he had to choose between dead Hermione and alive Astraea, the choice was way too simple.

"You should go," he spoke softly, removing her hand from his neck and placing a kiss upon it.

"I know," she replied with some horrible clarity, yet didn't make a move.

"I mean it, Astraea," he said a bit more harshly, wondering how far he had to go to make her leave, and whether he was able to do it. Even these four words had been hard for him to say.

"Astraea," she replied. "You still think I'm Astraea."

"Nothing has changed. Just because I fucked you doesn't mean I love you, or _vice versa_. It just happened that we both had needs, and were able to help each other out. But now I've got other important things to do, and you should have some, too, so get off me."

If this had been indeed a start, he had just demolished it. Because it was too late now. Because she had to leave and be safe. And if his unforgivable words helped her to survive...

She cut through his thread of thought, removing herself from him and bursting out in laugh, raising slight panic in him that perhaps even these words hadn't worked.

"Save your breath," she told him, picking up her clothes and getting dressed. "**I** know I'm still Astraea, I just thought that perhaps you had some illusions that I needed to destroy."

"You hoped I had some illusions," he corrected her, not sure whether she was telling the truth. Of course, it had been a decent plan, and if he had got those illusions she referred to, it would have hurt like hell. Then again, it hurt like hell anyway.

"To tell you the truth, and I suppose I can do it now that I'm leaving for good, I don't give a damn," she informed him, grabbing the things she had gathered before and a few others. "I'm going to leave this place and all of you forever, so I don't give a damn what you think or feel or whatever."

"Forever," he repeated the word in whisper, more to himself, but she heard it, too.

"Forever," she stated firmly. "Did you really think I would be coming back here after the war? Even if you win it, I will be on the list of your enemies, and if not a wanted criminal, then still under suspicion. They might want to interrogate or arrest me should I come back, and I don't need that kind of trouble. But even if it wasn't so, there's nothing to bring me back here. As I said already, I don't give a damn about you, any of you. I don't want to see you or be with you. Clear?"

"Crystal," he nodded. "Just remember that the castle in Murmansk is watched by our people."

"I'm not going there," she snorted, as if it had been utterly silly of him to even consider it. "And no, I'm not going to tell you where I'm going."

"Go wherever you want, just be safe. And promise me one thing."

"What?" she inquired, not bothering to tell him that he had no right to demand anything from her.

"Promise me you will be safe. Promise me you will stay alive. Promise me you won't come back for the final battle."

"I should refuse just to spite you," she muttered. "But you have been good to me. Fine, I'll promise." _Not because you have been good to me, though_, she added in thought. _But because I was going to do it anyway. _

Draco sighed in relief.

"You should really go now," he spoke after a moment. "The wards will let you Disapparate."

She nodded and raised her wand.

"Wait!"

And she did, even though she shouldn't have.

"Once... once this is over, and if I'm still alive... you don't have to come here, but... I would follow you anywhere. If you get lonely, or need something, or... anything."

She looked at his hopeful face, into his unguarded eyes full of love and pain, and smiled.

"You are loyal to me to the end. But this is the end. I don't need your loyalty, and I certainly don't need you."

"Perhaps not. Perhaps you don't need it or want it, but nevertheless you shall always have it."

Astraea's smile turned into a smirk.

"I didn't say I don't want you, I said I don't need you."

What was the harm in giving the poor man some hope? Besides, she might get bored and lonely after a while, and then it would be nice to have someone to play with.

"Farewell," she spoke and Disapparated.

---

He didn't know how long he had been lying in the bed – both seconds and hours seemed plausible, although he would have guessed something in-between – when the Order finally burst through the wards. For a moment he listened to the voices coming from his living-room since there was always the chance of them being Death Eaters, but as soon as he recognized the booming of Moody, he tuned out all the racket.

They were probably searching the place, turning everything upside down, and causing a decent mess. And any second now they would be storming into the bedroom and demanding answers from him. He hoped it was late enough to explain his being in bed, but even if it wasn't, he would still be using that excuse. If they forced Veritaserum down his throat, he would have no other choice but tell the truth, but they still weren't going to get her location out of him. It was a good thing she hadn't told him.

The voices got louder, and by those few pokes he received, Draco realized they had found him. He continued to ignore them, however, both the yelling and the nudging. Only a few sentences slipped behind the iron curtain he had put up, and even fewer reached his mind.

"This is unacceptable! The girl knew too much!"

"I still can't believe all this is true. Are you absolutely sure?"

"What's wrong with Malfoy? Why won't he react?"

"She'll be back, Draco, trust me."

_I don't think so, Milla_, he was going to whisper, but someone beat him to answering.

"How can you say so, Ginny, after what she did to you?"

"She didn't do anything to me," she snapped. "We talked. And I do hope I said the right words to her. Once she sits down and thinks about it, she'll understand."

"Understand what?" Harry inquired with suspicion.

"I don't know for sure," Ginny admitted. "But I do hope she does."

* * *

**Don't forget to review!**


	25. Chapter 25: Silence Before Storm

**Note: **This story was thought up before the release of _Deathly Hallows_ and is therefore not influenced by it in any way (or at least I try my best not to be influenced by it).

Other than that, enjoy this long chapter. :)

* * *

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 25: Silence Before Storm**  
In which Ron and Lilya share some chocolate, Neville spies on the spy, Ron gets another nasty surprise, and Ginny comes back to the Headquarters._

Ron was sitting on the living-room couch busying himself with being depressed, rather certain that he had every right to do exactly that. He even made a mental list of all the people he really hated at the moment, but once it was done he only remembered the first three names on it: Voldemort, Moody, Hermione. What a trio! Ron tried to come up with a few things that they all had in common. They were all smart, bossy, and quirky. They knew lots of spells. They could all make a loud voice. Although Voldemort would probably wave his wand and let others do all the screaming. They all stood out of the grey mass, and yet could very well go unnoticed if they wanted to. And they were making his life bloody difficult.

Voldemort wanted to rule the world. Moody wanted to rule the Order much in the same way. And Hermione had turned evil and run away.

She had been evil the whole time, of course, or so he was told. Only acting, taking advantage of him, playing with his feelings, and throwing him away once she had got what she needed. And he had believed everything like a complete moron.

_Constant vigilance, you stupid boy! Constant vigilance._

Truth be told, Moody had been a lot more lenient with them than could be expected, but in his wish to stay mad at him, Ron refused to consider this. The old Auror had been enraged, of course, and, as it came out later, not only with them for hiding this from him. Because she had fooled him, too. Him! The master of constant vigilance, constant suspicion, and constant caution was fooled by a girl. A very intelligent and capable girl, but still a girl. Not that her gender mattered that much, but age definitely did. She was bloody too young to be able to fool someone as old and wise and vigilant as him!

And there was more, as the combined effort of the rest of the Order managed to extract from Moody a couple of days after the Incident. Unsurprisingly, it was not easy to make their Head say anything he didn't want to say.

"It's all your fault," Moody growled, his tone belying his words. "If you hadn't told me not to send her out again, I wouldn't have had the need to use her knowledge and abilities in some other field."

"What a fine confidante I picked," he added, shaking his head in wry amusement. "I could as well have gone and confessed everything to Voldemort."

And there was no Draco present at that time to assure him that she was not going to Voldemort, probably, although Moody would have never believed it anyway. But it was part of their punishment to be banned from regular Order meetings and receive all the necessary information at a private audience with him. The fact that Moody usually told them about everything that had been discussed at the meeting, although in a meaner voice, didn't really matter. The war was getting fiercer by day, and every single member of the Order suddenly became more precious and crucial than ever.

Ron, wallowing in his rightful depression, couldn't care less how important Moody considered him. He only cared how not important he considered the old Auror at the moment.

"Stupid Moody," he muttered.

"Stupid Voldemort," he added.

"Stupid Hermione," he sighed. Well, at least one thing about the situation was good, if there could ever be anything good in such circumstances. The overwhelming confusion he had felt on the day she had ended their relationship, his own confusing behaviour was somehow starting to make sense. He must have felt somewhere deep, deep, deep, _deep_ down that the thing he had with her wasn't quite right.

"I guess I'm not as stupid as they all think," he declared, although without much enthusiasm. He was still confused and angry and sad and hurt and all that, after all.

"Stupid Harry," he recalled one more name from his list. "For being correct about her."

---

When Lilya entered the room half an hour later, Ron was still sitting on the couch and being depressed. Now, however, his list had grown even longer, and he could recall almost every name. Except for the waitress in a nearby inn who had once accidentally spilt his butterbeer, but that was mostly because he had never actually learned her name.

"Hi," she greeted quietly, stopping by the doorway in case he would rather she didn't invade his privacy. But Ron was welcoming every distraction with open arms, especially if it happened to be the only person he felt he could really talk to lately.

"Oi, Lilya!" he cried, raising his hand as if she had hard time noticing him right in front of her in the otherwise empty room.

She took it as a permission to close the door and move to sit next to him on the couch, although she thought it better to let him start the conversation, picking whatever topic he wanted to talk about.

But it seemed that he had trouble finding the right one as well, as silence took the reign. Even silence wanted to rule something.

"Aren't you supposed to ask me whether I am all right?" he wondered after a while.

"Am I?" she asked back.

"I don't know," he shrugged. "Everyone else does it."

Lilya didn't say a thing.

"It's starting to annoy me, actually," he continued. "This was a blow to us all, not just me. And I know how upset Mum is about it. Hermione was like a daughter to her."

"I looked into her mind," she suddenly announced, being surprised at her own words.

"You looked into my Mum's mind?" Ron asked, equally shocked.

"No, Hermione's," she replied, and suddenly felt some absurd need to defend herself. "You asked me, remember? You wanted me to do it, so I did. I only did what you wanted me to do."

"I remember," he spoke with a frown. "But I also remember telling you to forget all about it."

"Well, I don't," Lilya snapped.

"Why didn't you tell me she was evil?" he demanded once he realized the true meaning behind her words.

"Because that's not what I saw," she said and congratulated herself on not stuttering or chickening out.

"But... but... but she is!" he exclaimed in desperation. Her evil nature wasn't something he could come to term with easily, but now that he had just begun to do that, he couldn't let another blow burst his fragile understanding into pieces again.

"She might be," Lilya agreed. "But she is something else as well."

"Insane?"

"Obsessed." There. That was it. She had said it.

"Obsessed?" Ron repeated. "Obsessed with what?"

"I don't know that," she admitted. "But she is **really** obsessed with it."

"You mean... what do you mean?"

Damn. He wanted an explanation. She wasn't sure she could give one, especially one that would make any sense to him.

"It's like..." she began. "It's like... well... there's this thing, only I don't know what, that she is really obsessed with. And I mean **really** obsessed. I mean she can't see or feel or notice anything else than just this one thing, and she is doing anything possible to attain it or keep it or whatever she wants to do with it... she is blind to everything else. It's like the world around her is a dark room, and all she sees is the one candle in the middle of it. But this candle casts no light on the surrounding darkness, it only lets her see it and get to it. But it doesn't allow her to see into the darkness. Do you understand?"

Ron didn't say a word. Ron didn't need to say a word. His utterly confused expression was more than enough. Lilya sighed – this was going to be difficult. That was one of the problems with looking into minds – it was hard enough to realize what she was seeing, but to explain it to someone else... Still, she gave another try.

"Look here," she said, drawing her wand and pointing at the table, which soon sprouted a piece of chocolate that had **not** been there before. "Let's say you are in a room full of people and there's only one piece of chocolate left. And you really want it. In fact, you want it so much that you concentrate all your attention on it, you don't see or hear what is going on around you, you can't see the people or hear them talk. All that you can see is that one piece of chocolate. That's what I meant by really obsessed."

"But why... why can't I just reach and take the chocolate instead of staring at it?" he was puzzled.

"Perhaps... perhaps everyone else wants it, too, and you have to pick the right moment. Perhaps you were told not to eat it. Or perhaps you are too full for it now, but want to save it for later."

"Rubbish!" Ron declared. "I'm never too full for the last piece of chocolate."

And to prove his point he grabbed it from the table and before she could protest he was already chewing it. He wasn't chewing it for long, though, and the protests did come.

"What the bloody hell!" he yelled, spitting it out in disgust. "It tastes like crap!!!"

Lilya blushed and quickly vanished the offending piece of chocolate.

"For the life of me I can't conjure good chocolate," she confessed, as he was still grimacing over the foul taste it had left in his mouth.

"I can't see why **anyone** could be obsessed with **that,**" he snarled.

"Perhaps it was a bad example," she spoke after a while, looking away from his furious expression.

"And bad chocolate," she added after a moment's thought.

"I know a place nearby where you can get good chocolate," Ron announced, still sounding a bit sore from his bad experience with chocolate. Not his first bad experience with chocolate, mind you, but he had learned never to accept any from Fred and George a long time ago. He had not expected something like this from **her**.

"Really?" she repeated, wondering whether he had meant what she hoped he had meant.

"Yeah. Want to go and get some?"

"Yeah."

---

Millicent did not spend all her time at Grimmauld Place. Neville had never found anything weird about that as he had his own house and garden that he frequently visited. But that was because he needed to take care of his plants. What was Milla taking care of whenever she wasn't around?

"I like your house," he brought up the topic one morning when they were lying in her bed, too lazy to get up.

"My house?" she asked in surprise, considering it for a moment. "It's a nice house."

"A lot more spacious than this place."

"I suppose," she shrugged, wondering why he was asking all that. "But this place does have its pluses."

"Like what?"

"You're here," she answered simply making him almost flinch. This was probably as open as she had ever been with him about her feelings, and he hated himself for doubting her while she was letting him into her soul.

No! This was rubbish, each and every piece of it. Millicent was not a spy. It had been just the desert with its treacherous thoughts and pretty but treacherous flowers that would lure people into death. There was a lot he didn't know about her yet, but he was observant and had spent a fair amount of time staring at her. Even before Milla had trusted him with Astraea's secret, he had realized there was something wrong with Hermione. He had noticed, felt, sensed it. But he didn't sense anything like that about Millicent.

_Love will make a fool out of you._

That's what he had said when explaining why Ron had fallen into Astraea's trap.

_He only sees what he wants, he only believes what he wants._

And he was getting suspicious. Didn't this mean that somewhere deep inside he **was** sensing something off with her?

"It's so empty there," she continued, oblivious of his thoughts and the path they were currently taking. "And the memories... my friends... I hardly ever go there nowadays."

_No? But where do you spend all the time you aren't here then, Millicent? Catching up with your friends? Exchanging news and information? Are you betraying us all, Millicent? Are you betraying me?_

But he never voiced any of those questions, understanding the stupidity of doing it. If she were a spy, he shouldn't let her know that he suspected her. And if she weren't, this would only hurt her.

There had to be some way to find out the truth. There had to be because he couldn't go on living like this. He had to know. Even if... even if he didn't like it. He loved Milla, but his loyalties lied with the Order. If she were betraying him only, maybe... maybe he wouldn't try to find out the truth so desperately. Maybe he would close his eyes this once and live happily ever after, or at least until she decided to make her treason public. But this was something more. This was betraying the Order, the good side, all those witches and wizards risking their lives in the fight against Voldemort. If he looked past her possible crime, he would become a traitor as well. He would be helping Lord Voldemort, and sending his friends to death. He would betray the Order, the good side, all those witches and wizards risking their lives in the fight for a better future, a better world for their children.

Children...

If he turned a blind eye now, all those sacrifices already made would be meaningless. The deaths of people fighting for their principles and freedom... and those who didn't die but still gave up something precious... like their sanity, their future... it would all be meaningless.

And Bellatrix Lestrange would win.

Neville knew that revenge was an evil dangerous thing, which could make a person cold and ruthless. But his revenge wasn't just revenge, it was as much his love for his parents, and he thought that he was strong enough to control it and not let it control him.

Bellatrix Lestrange would not win, not if he had a say in that. And he was going to have a say in that.

"You miss your friends a lot, don't you?" he asked, the question coming almost automatically as his brain was working at full power, figuring out the best plan to use, the best way to find out the truth without hurting her should his doubts prove wrong.

She was silent for a long moment, but he had time to wait.

"I would if I could," she said at last, turning her head away from him and directing her gaze at the ceiling. "But they are not my friends, are they? I can't miss them any more, I have to hate them now."

She let out a short humourless laugh at this.

"I have to hate them now," she repeated to herself, then sat up on the bed. "It's getting late. We should get up."

---

Laughing at a time like this felt almost like a blasphemy, but chocolate, good company, and the distance from the Headquarters made Ron forget most of the bad stuff. It all came back, however, as they returned from their little getaway, and the gloomy atmosphere hit them in the face, instantly smothering their good spirits. But even though the burden was back on their shoulders, they could now see the lawn cart – far away and very small, but still there. And if they kept on going then someday they would reach it. It was a weird little thought, but liberating all the same.

They met Neville and Millicent in the kitchen, cooking up a late breakfast. French omelette, she had informed them and offered a share, but even Ron was too full of chocolate to accept. He poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice instead and took leave, pausing at the door to let Lilya exit first. He had talked to her a lot on the way to the chocolate shop and back, but they had only touched humorous and light-hearted topics, and now that he was back in the house with its heavy air, he realized there were other things, serious things that he really wanted to discuss with her as well.

But the girl had not followed her, taking a seat at the table and shaking her head at his questioning glance. She was sitting close to Neville and suddenly feeling a tinge of betrayal, Ron fled the room, so intent on getting away that he ran straight into Draco who seemed too occupied with his own thoughts to notice the redhead in time.

"Damn you, Weasley!" he growled, looking down at the front of his robes that were now dripping with pumpkin juice. "What's wrong with your family? First your sister with tea and then you with juice... I know you don't like me, but could you please show it some other way? A decent hex or something..."

He still didn't know the story behind Ginny and her teacup, as the night and day following Astraea's departure had been filled with Moody being livid and demanding answers, others being shocked and demanding answers, and some being something else but demanding answers anyway. As it was, he never got the chance to question the girl before she went back to Hogwarts, and the matter seemed too delicate to discuss through letters, especially when those letters were checked at both ends. He could have asked Potter, of course, but there seemed to be too much on the boy's mind to bother him with what might prove completely inconsequential.

Ron glared at him, trying to come up with a comeback acid enough. What he finally spoke, however, was nothing of the kind.

"Why did you let her go?"

Attempting to figure out why in the bloody hell he had said that, Ron missed the slightly surprised look Draco sent him. But the real shock came a few seconds later, when he actually proceeded to answer, something he had not expected.

"I wanted her to be safe and she couldn't be that here any longer."

There was still something horribly wrong with him, Ron realized. Because that really made some sense, and he couldn't help but silently agree.

"Whatever," he said loudly, and hurried away once again.

Draco watched him go, his mind completely elsewhere. He had made no plans to go and demand some answers from Potter, but now another Weasley doing almost the same thing brought those ponderings back into his mind. Whatever it was, it might prove completely inconsequential. Perhaps it really was an accident. On the other hand, though, perhaps there was something more to it. Besides, there was this other thing he wanted to discuss with him.

---

Harry was in his room, standing by the window and frowning, perhaps being as depressed as his friend. He answered to the knocking with a gloomy "Come in!" but didn't turn around to see who had entered.

"Potter," he made his person known, resting his back against the door.

"Is it Voldemort?" Harry asked almost at once.

"No. Well, mostly no."

"Ah," he remarked sagely, thinking he knew exactly what their conversation would be about. And this time he wasn't wrong.

"Ginny thinks she will be back," he continued in a moment. "Says she did it on purpose, and soon we are going to find out what that purpose was."

"Who did what on purpose?"

"Hermione became Astraea. Ginny says she would have never done it without a reason, and it had to be a good reason."

"And what do you think, Potter?"

"I don't know," Harry sighed. "I just hope that whatever her goal might be, passing information on to Voldemort isn't a part of it."

"It isn't," Draco replied with conviction. "And she won't be back, at least not before the end of the war. She promised me she wouldn't."

"If only I could make Ginny promise something like that," he spoke, choosing not to tell him that Astraea's promise was worth nothing. But if she was smart she would stay away anyway, and there was no need to make him worry about her safety. However, if Ginny was right and she would be back, there was nothing they could do to prevent that. So in either case, the matter was out of their hands.

"Speaking about Ginny," Draco began, about to bring up his unanswered question. "That dinner the other day..."

"Yes, I must apologize for that," Harry cut him through. "It was a silly plan. Even if she had felt anything, she would have never showed it, I realize that now. But at the time it seemed such a good idea."

"What seemed such a good idea?"

"You don't know?" he sounded so surprised that Draco got the sensation of being really stupid. "I thought you would figure it out at once. Didn't you feel the spell?"

"What spell?"

"The spell undoing the blocking of the Curse of the Weak," he explained. "Took us quite a while to find it."

"So that's what you were doing," he remarked, finally understanding everything. "It wasn't that silly a plan, actually."

"But you barely flinched," Harry argued. "I suppose we should have done something much more painful to you."

"You should have asked Weasley. He would have been happy to help you out."

"True. But don't you think it would have been a bit hard to explain how his fist accidentally collided with your jaw? Molly would have had his head for fighting at the dinner table."

"I wouldn't have minded."

"No, I suppose you wouldn't. Are you two still at war with each other?"

"We aren't best buddies, if that's what you're asking. But we do manage to pass one another in the corridor without casting any curses."

"That's good enough, I guess."

"Do you know, Potter, how impolite it is to stand with your back to the person you are talking to? Not to mention dangerous."

"What, are you going to curse me?" Harry asked, not turning around.

"Not today. But I do have to ask you for a favour."

"Draco Malfoy asking **me** for a favour?" he repeated, his tone dripping with fake incredibility.

"I've got to see this," he added and finally turned to face him, just in time to see him rolling his eyes.

"Merlin, Potter, you look like you haven't slept for a month," he frowned, taking in his exhausted expression and the dark bags under his eyes.

"Worried about me?"

"I wouldn't want you to fall asleep in the battle, that's all."

"I'll be fine," he said with finality, then went on to ask, "You mentioned a favour?"

"Just one little thing. If I die in the war and you happen to see Hermione afterwards, can you tell her that I don't blame her for anything and that the only thing I regret is letting her go to Moody alone that night?"

He was silent for so long that Draco ran out of patience and prompted him to answer.

"Well?"

"You should ask someone else," came the reply. "Because I don't think I'll survive the war."

"A bit melodramatic, aren't you?"

"Just realistic," Harry said with all seriousness.

"I would try to avoid that if I were you," Draco remarked. "I know lots of people who would line up to kick your ass should you get yourself killed."

"Don't tell me you would be one of them," he mocked.

"Of course not. Standing in a line is simply not my thing. I would pay someone off to do it for me, or find another way."

Harry kept his silence for another long moment.

"You're not the only one regretting that night," he spoke at last. "And if I'm still alive and happen to see her, I will tell her what you said."

---

Lilya observed Millicent busying herself with the food, realizing that most of her hatred for the girl had disappeared. For example, she had no desire to pick up the frying pan and hit her on the head with it. Or grab a knife and aim for her neck. She almost changed her mind the next moment, however, when Millicent began to sing, but then Neville gently poked her shoulder.

What followed was a silent conversation of pointed looks and mouthed words, and Lilya cried a voiceless _What?_ many times before believing her eyes. Then she turned to stare at the other girl again, wondering whether she should make a business of this - 'Will Read Your Girlfriend's Mind For Money'. She also pondered what problems her friend was already having with this girl, and whether all relationships were so troublesome. Then she recalled her own try at having something deeper with Neville that had resulted in Moody chasing her round the table and concluded that yes, they probably were.

After the breakfast, Millicent took a hasty leave.

"See you later, love," she gave the blushing Neville a quick kiss, nodded at Lilya, and left the room.

"See you later, **love**," Lilya couldn't help but tease, yet suddenly his expression turned so gloomy and serious she feared it had been the wrong thing to say.

"What did you see?" he demanded before she managed to apologize.

"In her mind? Nothing."

"You didn't look? I told you to look!"

His fierce anger startled her, and even hurt a bit, as she quickly went on to explain.

"I looked alright. I just couldn't see a thing. She must be a good Occlumens."

The look on Neville's face became even darker.

"But I still think she loves you," Lilya supplied, not wanting her friend to be so dreary.

"Why would you think that?" he inquired, confirming her theory of what had caused his sombre mood.

"You should have seen the scene she caused when you didn't return at promised time," she recalled the incident. "I wasn't here at the time but I heard that she had roused the whole house with her yelling. And Moody had been more furious than ever before, first because she had managed to disarm him and later for what she had said."

"What did she say?" Neville asked with curiosity.

"Something about Voldemort treating his followers better, I think. But then Malfoy had stepped out and said a few things, and she had calmed down and apologized. Moody didn't even punish her, at least not openly."

Lilya watched several emotions slide over his face, until in the end grim determination gained victory over the shock, hurt, incredibility, doubt, and several other things. She got a temptation to look into his mind, but was able to suppress it as she had once promised him not to do it.

"Lilya," Neville began, turning to look her in the eye. "If you were a spy for Voldemort, how would you pass on the information?"

For a while the girl could do nothing but gasp, and when she finally managed something more, her face had taken on the hue of flour.

"You think... you think I'm a spy?"

Now it was his turn to bleach.

"What? No!" he exclaimed. "Oh no, no, no, no! Of course not, Lilya! That's not what I meant! I would never, never ever suspect you in anything like that. Never!"

"No, I'm just asking," he continued after a moment, "you are a smart girl and I'd like to have your opinion."

"I think that the best way to do it would be personally," she gave her opinion, still a bit pale in the face. "Letters and messages are too risky, you never know who might read them."

"Yes, you're probably right," he agreed. "But where?"

"I don't know that. Where do Death Eaters usually meet?"

"Well, there's this one place in Knockturn Alley..."

---

Half an hour later, Neville had entered 'The Middle Head of Kerberos', sat down at the cleanest table he could find, ordered himself a glass of Firewhiskey, and began to doubt whether the idea to come here had been a good one.

He had no certain reason to believe that he would hear anything significant here, and if he had been a Death Eater, he would have chosen some other place to meet. In other words, the occupants of this inn would have made even Voldemort seem nice. The idea that his wild goose chase might have lethal consequences had slipped through his mind more than once. And to make it even worse, he had said 'thank you' when his drink was delivered.

Then again, his 'thank you' might have been the very thing that saved his life. Although the usual visitors of this inn had probably never used that phrase before, there was a certain group of customers who sometimes spoke it, and the innkeeper knew better than to bother those people.

Unaware of all this, Neville pulled his hood deeper over his face, took a sip of his Firewhiskey, and feared for his life, berating himself for not picking a table closer to the door. While he might have managed with one or two of these... people, there were too many of them between him and the sweet exit.

So occupied with his thoughts of doom, he almost missed the entrance of two other hooded people. There were wearing long black robes and their faces were hidden, but he had stared at his girlfriend long enough not to recognize the way she walked and moved, even if he couldn't see anything more of her.

Neville's heart jumped into his throat and made him almost choke on his drink. The two figures took a table at the other end of the room, but even if they had been close enough, he wouldn't have heard their talk as his ears were suddenly deaf to all outside noise, filled with a loud roar. Black and orange dots were dancing before his eyes and he looked down to his glass, rather sure that some poison had been poured into it. But then the dots disappeared and even his hearing returned. He raised his head just in time to see Millicent stand up and without a thought he jumped up to follow her, not paying any attention to the several horrible figures he passed on his way to the door, having no idea what he was going to say or do to her.

Knockturn Alley was gloomy and desolate, and her path took them to an even gloomier and emptier place by a half-collapsed wall. There she stopped and Neville reached for his wand, scolding himself for not having done it before. And his reproof was well-based as the wand slipped from his finger and flew through the air to where she caught it a dozen steps away.

She had removed her hood and the twisted grimace on her face was horrible beyond belief. If he had still been unsure then this look would have brushed away the last of his doubts. It was the look of a Death Eater before making the kill, and his last hopes of surviving this encounter shattered into dust.

Her wand was pointed and the words were on her lips, yet there was something stopping her from casting the spell. In his horrible shock he didn't notice the delay, but he couldn't look past the sudden change of expressions on her face, or miss the move of her lowering her wand.

She went on to shake her head and take a small backwards step, but her face was dry and gaze determined.

"You shouldn't have done this," she spoke in harsh tones.

"Done what – trusted you or followed you?" he replied as cruelly, yanking off his own hood since his identity had been revealed already.

"You shouldn't have come here!" she hissed, sending a shift glance round to check their surroundings for possible witnesses. "And cover your face before anyone sees you!"

Choosing to be stubborn, he made no move but continued to glare at her, trying to put all his anger, hurt, and betrayal into it. If only looks could kill...

"You'll get yourself killed!" she barked, a faint note of desperation in her voice.

"Don't pretend to care!" he yelled at her.

"Like you aren't going to kill me yourself," he added in a softer tone.

"You have no idea," she muttered, taking another step away from him. "You have no idea..."

"I think I have a pretty good idea," he stated calmly, although his insides were anything but calm. "You're been selling us to Lord Voldemort the whole time."

"Don't say that name!" she cried, then flinched at her own words.

"You are a mistake I will never make again," he said, fisting his hands in the rage he felt he couldn't control for much longer. "You better kill me now, or I'll make you regret the day you opened your front door for me."

"No," she whispered, holding her place and even managing a small wistful smile that made his blood boil.

"Tell Moody that I'm sorry," she continued, looking serious again.

"You think a sorry is enough?" he sneered. "You are long past the point of redemption, Millicent."

"We will meet again," she promised. "And perhaps then your opinion of me has changed."

"Never! Never!" he screeched. "I will hate and despise you as long as I breathe. Never! And I will never stop looking for you as long as **you** still breathe. That I swear on the name of Dumbledore and my parents."

"We will meet again," she repeated, tossed something into the air and Disapparated.

Hearing clatter, Neville looked down and saw his wand lying on the ground before his feet. Feeling numb and empty inside, he picked it up with shaking fingers.

---

It took him a several minutes before he managed to collect himself enough to Apparate, and once back in the Headquarters, he needed a few hours before going to Moody.

The old Auror listened to his story without interrupting, and even when he was finished, he didn't hurry to comment.

"Did she say anything besides being sorry?" he inquired at last.

"She said that we would meet again, and maybe by then my opinion of her would have changed," he recalled with a heavy frown. "I told her that nothing, absolutely nothing could stop me from hating and despising her."

It must have been his imagination because there was no way that Moody sent him a glance full of pity.

"You are right," he said after another long while, sounding very old and tired suddenly. "Millicent was a spy."

"You knew?" he gasped in surprise, the words of Astraea coming back to him. _Moody knows the identity of the spy_, she had said.

"Of course I know," Moody growled. "I've known all along that she is a spy. There is just one problem with it."

"What?"

"She is **our** spy," the Auror sighed.

"I never told it to anyone," he went on, realizing that the boy was too shocked to speak. "Save that... **girl**. She was the perfect candidate, Millicent, I mean. With her Death Eater background and some Occlumency skills. She was passing on information, true, but only what I told her to say. Voldemort would test her of course, but so long she has managed to fool him into thinking that she is loyal to him."

"But... but why didn't she... if you knew..."

"Why didn't she come back with you? I don't know. She must have thought it better for some reason."

"But... why... she said sorry..."

"Again, I don't know for sure. But it might be because I've lost a crucial source of information now."

"But... how can you be sure she is loyal to us?" he finally managed to form a sentence.

"It was her idea."

"What was her idea?" Neville asked in total confusion.

"The Unbreakable Vow."

"She..."

"That's how I know she is loyal," Moody declared. "And how I know that she will stay loyal to us as long as she breathes."

The dancing dots were back in front of Neville's eyes and the same roar in his ears.

---

It had been three days since his trip to the chocolate shop with Lilya, and Ron had not once talked to her in all this time. And now he was missing her company, her voice, her laughter and pretty much everything else about her. And while this fact was worrying and confusing him a bit, he was still sure that seeing her would make everything all right again. Finding her, however, didn't seem as easy. She wasn't at the Headquarters. She wasn't at the Burrow. She wasn't at Malfoy's either, and he was really glad of it, no matter the infuriating look he had received at his excuse of looking for a very important thing he might have left there. He knew she had her own place, but not the address of it. Moody would have probably known, but he was a bit reluctant to ask him for it. Especially when there was another person who should know it.

"Neville!" he burst into his room without knocking.

The other boy jumped and wheeled around, guilty expression on his face and a bouquet of withered tulips in his hands.

"I'm just throwing them away," he defended himself quite needlessly because Ron couldn't give a damn about any flowers at the moment, even if he had noticed them.

"You know Lilya's address, right?" he started without preamble.

"Yes, but... Is something wrong?"

"No," Ron replied, his ears turning red. "I just need to deliver her a message. From Moody!"

His lie was more than obvious, especially thanks to his blush, but just as he hadn't noticed the tulips, Neville was in no mood to notice his nervousness.

"Then you really have to go," he agreed. "She asked me not to give it to anyone, but I suppose this is an emergency."

"Yes," Ron nodded vehemently. "An emergency, yes."

"Just be careful," he warned. "Most of the potions she is working on are very explosive and dangerous."

"Careful. Yes."

"Her Floo address is Argentum Hall."

"Arch what?"

"Argentum," Neville repeated. "It's the chemical element of silver."

"Why couldn't it be Silver Hall then?" he was puzzled.

"She probably liked Argentum better," Neville guessed, never having discussed this particular topic with his friend.

"Why would she think that?" Ron frowned, seriously doubting this explanation as Lilya had always seemed more or less normal to him. But there had to be something seriously wrong with a person preferring that arch-thing to silver.

"Because she is an alchemist," Neville smiled. "Do you want me to write it down for you?"

It had been days, although it felt like centuries, since he had felt true amusement without the ever concurrent bitterness.

"No," Ron snapped, narrowing his eyes at the other. "Archgentium Hall, right?"

"Argentum Hall."

"Right. Thanks."

Neville let out a few chuckles at the expense of his friend, before his eyes dropped back to the dead flowers in his hand and lost their brief sparkle of merriment.

---

In a rather opposite mood Ron walked to the fireplace, whistling happily, stating a firm "Argentum Hall" to the emerald flames dancing around him, quite excited at what he was going to find at the other end. She had already seen his home, it was only fair that he got a look of hers as well.

Lilya's living-room, or at least her fireplace-room proved to be nice and cosy, not too large, but not too small, either, painted in the warm tones of beige, brown, and dark red. A small round coffee table stood before the hearth, the sofa behind it felt like a truly comfortable place to lounge on and stare into flames. The far wall was occupied with bookshelves reaching the ceiling, not displaying one empty space in them. There was a thick soft burgundy carpet covering the floor, asking to be sat on or crossed barefoot, and two lamps were placed down on it, either side of the bookshelves. Several candles were floating around the room, lit and careful not to get too close to anything flammable. The air was fresh despite the heavy red curtains drawn shut, and had a faint yet pleasant fragrance.

The only thing Ron made a face at was the knitted doily on the table. Instead of horrible pink it was nicely white and the flowers in the vase placed upon it were fresh instead of dried, but still it succeeded in giving him chills and bringing back not so good memories of an ugly fat toad. The room seemed fortunately devoid of any kittens with big blue eyes and pink bows, yet that one doily was still enough to prompt him to leave. Fear of tablecloths – rather original, wasn't it? Lucky for them that Voldemort was too stupid to use it in his favour because Death Eaters dressed in pink doilies was not something he wanted to dwell on any longer than it was absolutely necessary.

What the room lacked, however, was Lilya, giving Ron another reason to leave and a fine excuse to get away from that doily. He picked the most promising door (and probably the right one, as well, since the room only had one), stopped for a moment to examine the picture of a hedgehog carrying mushrooms at the wall beside it, then stepped over the threshold.

He exited into a short corridor that displayed a wider selection of doors, five to be exact. Counting out the one he had gone through just a moment ago still left the decision of four, but Ron had the time to try them all. Hopefully she wouldn't get too angry finding him snooping around her home, especially when he explained his dilemma of doors. The first took him to a thankfully empty bedroom, another to a similarly empty bathroom. The third happened to be locked, and he let it be for now. The last, standing a little way apart from all the others, at the far end of the hallway opened up to a staircase going both up and down, expanding his area of search considerably.

He tried upstairs first, yet without much luck. Quite oddly, the majority of the doors there were locked, making him curious as to what lied inside those rooms. Something precious, something secretive, or something dangerous? Neville had warned him against an alchemist's home, after all. Perhaps that's where she kept all the explosive ingredients.

The idea of Lilya not being at home did slip through his mind, but he still had on more floor to investigate. His way down the stairs, however, was at least twice as long as in the other direction, taking him into unknown and slightly frightening depths.

Just a basement, he assured himself. Just a dark and damp basement, in no way resembling to a dungeon. He did his best to convince himself in this, as he carefully proceeded through the dim passages, holding on to the rough walls just in case. Thank Merlin that there was only one tunnel because getting lost in a maze didn't strike him as a good idea at the moment.

He wasn't afraid, not really, being a Gryffindor after all, but he was still revealed noticing a burning torch on the wall. His spirits rose considerably when in the bright light he was able to see the passage end with a door, and even more when he realized it being open a small crack. The clatter sounding from inside almost made him dance in joy had he not been rather intent on escaping from the slightly frightening tunnel into the comfortable atmosphere and good company the room seemed to offer.

Striding up to the door he prepared to push it open when a voice coming from the other side of it halted all his movements. It had been a male voice! And it couldn't have been Neville because he would have probably heard either his arriving or walking through the house. This person had been here before! The voice wasn't familiar to him, but he still didn't like it, if only because it was robbing him of the company of the girl. True, it had been foolish of him to assume that there was no one else in her life, after all, she had had enough time to overcome her infatuation with Neville and find someone who would answer to her feelings. And there was nothing wrong with that for she was a nice and pretty girl deserving to be loved just like anyone else. He had no right to mind her being happy, quite the opposite, he should be happy, as well. She was his friend, and just his friend, and nothing but his friend, and everything was fine, and he better leave this place before the sudden urge to punch the owner of that voice got out of his control.

But even this seemed too much to ask because at that moment the voice got louder and the words spoken nailed him to the place, even the desire to punch someone brushed from his mind. And although his body suddenly felt frozen, the movement of pressing his ear against the door came automatically, without any conscious decision of doing it.

"You have to give me something more, Lilya. The Dark Lord will kill me if I go back to him with only that."

"I can't!" he recognized her voice screaming back. "I don't know anything else. I've already told you everything."

"Then you've got to go and find out."

"What do you want me to do? Go to Moody and ask him whether there's something extra crucial that the Dark Lord should never find out or we are doomed?"

"You are a smart girl, figure something out."

"No!" she stated firmly. "I've already told you too much, Marcus. This has to stop."

"He will kill both of us," he said with conviction.

"I think he has better things to do than turn the world upside down looking for a runaway chap."

"A traitor, you mean?" he corrected her grimly. "He would find us from the ends of Earth."

"Then you have to find a better hiding place."

"You meant that **we** have to find a better hiding place."

"No," she argued, her voice quivering but determined. "I'm staying here."

"You can't! He will find you and kill you at once!"

"Then so be it."

"Lilya, baby, you can't mean this," he pleaded with her.

"Yes, I can. Watch me!"

"You are too smart to die like this, Lil," he tried another approach. "The world needs your knowledge and abilities."

"Exactly. And that's why I can't leave. The world needs me."

"What about me? Don't you give a damn about me? I need you, too," he announced with a mix of anger and sadness.

"You are a big boy, you'll manage."

"I can't leave you here like this. You are too dear to me."

"I love you, too, Marcus. But I have to stay."

Her statement was followed by a long silence. Ron, listening at the door, held his breath. Half of him wanted to go back to the punching idea, the other tried to analyse everything he had heard, and the whole of him was bloody confused and shocked. Still, call it instincts or whatever else had helped him survive this long, he silently drew his wand, preparing to defend himself should it prove necessary.

"You have made your choice, haven't you?" Marcus finally asked, sounding resigned.

"I made my choice the day I joined the Order. No, I made my choice a long before that. Don't forget who my mother was."

"I don't care about your blood, Lilya!"

"I know. But I do. I do care who I am and who I am fighting for."

"You would have never joined us," he stated the fact.

"No, I wouldn't. I'm sorry, Marcus."

"Me too, Lil. Me too."

"You should go," she spoke after another period of silence. "Take care of yourself."

"You too, Lilya. Be careful."

"You be careful, too."

"You be carefuler."

"More careful," she corrected with a small joyless laugh.

"That too."

"I'm going to miss you, Marcus."

"I'm going to miss you more."

Their parting scene continued for a while, neither of them willing to say the final goodbye. Because it would have sounded too final. Yet a slightly less serious farewell threatened to feel fake. The times were dangerous and so were their lives.

This delaying the inevitable turned out to be a good thing at least for Ron, who managed to collect himself somewhat, and was working on offensive tactics now. The moment of surprise would prove helpful, and if he acted fast enough he would succeed in taking both of them down, or at least that's what he hoped.

Pushing the door silently open, he prepared to storm in, but before he was able to make his presence known, the crack of Apparition pronounced a small fault in his plan, something he hadn't accounted for. Still, Lilya hadn't gone anywhere and perhaps he could leave that tiny detail out of his story when telling Moody how he caught the spy. So he braced himself and stormed in anyway, coming to an abrupt halt as the girl turned her teary face towards him.

"He's right," she sobbed. "They will hunt him down."

"Erm," Ron said, not sure whether he should comfort her or curse her. After a short period of contemplation he decided to comfort her first and then, in case it proved necessary, curse her.

"I'm sure he'll be fine," he spoke, silently wishing the opposite.

"I'm stupid, aren't I?" she tried and failed to laugh, brushing off her tears. "He has managed without me for a long time, always leading a somewhat dangerous life. Of course, once upon the time **he** was the danger."

Ron nodded.

"And sometimes he didn't visit me for months. Now he has been dropping in almost every night. Perhaps that's why I'm so upset."

He nodded again, in lack of a better plan.

"He'll be fine, I'm sure. It's not easy to hide from Lord Voldemort and his followers, but he'll manage. He has to!"

"He is a Death Eater!" he exclaimed abruptly, needing to get it out of him. It was so wrong that a girl so beautiful and smart was crying her eyes out for such a scum. She should be cherished and worshipped and catered for, not left behind in tears.

"I know," she nodded gravely. "But I love him."

"You could do better than him. You're intelligent and pretty and there are so many better wizards who would fight to spend just one day with you." Feeling a blush creep up his cheeks, Ron wondered whether he had said too much, then went on to ponder why in the name of Godric he had said all that. Last but not least, especially with the look she was giving him, the idea of having made the situation worse somehow did enter his mind.

"I... you... you think I'm pretty?" Now she was blushing as well.

"Erm... well... erm..."

Lilya gave him an incredulous stare, keeping her eyes on him for so long that he wanted to fidget or run away or evaporate from too much blushing. But then her astonishment turned to cold calculation and she turned away, giving him a sudden sensation of loss.

"Shouldn't you curse me down and drag to Moody, or something like that?" she questioned, surprising him with it.

"You want me to curse you?"

"No need," she stated calmly, standing up. "I will come without a struggle."

"Oh," was the only reply he managed to give before she had walked past him, grabbed the torch and started off down the passage. After a moment of overcoming the shock, he hurried after her.

"Lilya, stop!" he cried, running to catch up with her brisk walk.

"Moody doesn't need to know!"

"What?" she shrieked, spinning around to glare at him. "I passed information on to the enemy! I sent innocent people to death! I have to be punished for that!"

"We'll tell Harry," Ron stated calmly, wondering what in the bloody hell he was doing. But it felt right and at the moment he was ready to trust his instincts, especially when they seemed to have a plan.

The girl opened her mouth as if to argue but thought better of it, choosing to drop her eyes and nod instead.

"Good. Harry will know what to do."

They proceeded along the passage in silence.

"We are not dating," she said when they were ascending the stairs.

"What?" he started from his thoughts of mostly reassuring himself that his friend would indeed know what to do.

"Marcus and I – we are not dating," she explained, blushing again.

"Oh."

"We are just friends."

"Oh."

"And he is my brother."

"Oh... what?"

"Well, my half-brother actually," she corrected herself.

"But... but... really?"

"My mother was a Muggle. My father was a Death Eater. Talk about impossible love. Especially since their first meeting included him and his friends murdering her entire family. Perhaps she never loved him, but they did stay together long enough for me to be born. He had a hard time explaining his relationship with a filthy lowly Muggle and once no one wanted to believe he was simply using her any more, he told her to run and she did. Alone. My father sent me away to some very distant relatives of him. The black sheep of his family they were, and thus rather kind to me. I grew up, went to Durmstrang, got some extra lessons from Flamel – my step-parents noticed a streak of alchemy in me and they just happened to know someone who knew someone who knew someone who knew Nicolas.

"On the day of my graduation I got a letter from Marcus. That was the end of my carefree life. Without revealing his true identity he somehow managed to lure me to England, and once I got here..."

"That bastard!" Ron hissed.

"No, I'm the bastard child here. And I don't blame him. He told me the truth. He had only just found out about me. And he never hurt me or kept me here against my will. No. I wanted to stay, stay and get to know him better. He was, after all, my only brother."

"What about your father? Or mother?"

"Both dead. My mother did run away, but not far enough. And my father... Death Eatering is a dangerous business. Got cursed about two years ago, and never recovered. That's when he told Marcus about me, on his death bed. And made him promise to find me."

"So that's what you meant when you said that blood mattered to you?" he realized, thinking back to her conversation with Marcus Flint and the most confusing pieces of it.

"It's ironic, actually," Lilya replied, looking past him. "I am the daughter of a Muggle and a Death Eater. And yet it was my Muggle mother who left me behind and my Death Eater father who provided me with a happy safe childhood. I had every supposition to become a Death Eater myself. But here I am."

"I'm sorry," Ron said with genuine sympathy.

"I'm not," she declared, surreptitiously swiping at her eyes. "They both did what they thought was best. And now it's my time to do what I consider best."

"And what's that?"

"That's coming clean about everything to Moody."

"He'll skin you alive!" he exclaimed in horror. "No, we should tell Harry..."

"Harry has enough to worry about at the moment," she cut him through. "No. We tell Moody. Or at least I tell Moody. You don't have to come."

"He will skin you alive," he repeated with conviction, wondering at her bravery at the same time. The small detail that she was the blasted spy, betraying the Order and passing information on to the enemy, had somehow slipped from his mind. Now she was simply Lilya, the smart girl, the pretty girl, the brave girl, the girl about to be skinned alive by Moody. The girl who made him laugh, made him feel better, made him comfortable, made him forget his troubles for a while.

"Are you **sure** you want to do it?"

"Yes," she nodded. "I'm sure."

"Let's go then," he sighed and grabbed for her hand. "Let's go give Moody another reason to yell at me."

"At us, you mean," she corrected, blushing a bit but not pulling her hand away.

"At us," Ron agreed, and found that there was something really nice about putting it that way, even if they were about to face a very livid Moody very soon.

---

"What do you want?" the old Auror growled, already in a bad mood.

Ron tried to guess how he would react to the news that they finally caught Voldemort's spy but they can't hurt her because she only did it out of love towards her brother, and really she is a nice girl with a sad past forced to live in such difficult conditions not wanting to harm anyone and ready to bear whatever punishment given to her.

Probably not very well.

He glanced at the girl who looked as determined as ever, if not a bit more, gave up his last hopes of changing her mind, and tried to seem just as brave and confident.

"She meant no harm," Ron said at the same time that Lilya announced,

"I have spied on you."

It wasn't too difficult to remove their two sentences from each other and understand both, but Moody seemed to have fallen into thoughts during the small period of silence the two of them needed to gather their courage.

"What?" he snapped, making it clear that they did not want to bother him at the moment. Ron was ready to take the hint, but she still refused to move.

"I have..." she began again, but now the Auror raised his hand to silence her. Ron was too relieved to notice her annoyance, but they both understood the reason behind this gesture soon enough, as a small figure stepped out of the fireplace, not bothering to brush away the soot but fixing Moody with a sharp look as soon as her feet were firmly on the ground.

Shocked silence reigned the room, making the moment feel much longer than it actually was. Coming to terms with what he was seeing, Ron opened his mouth to exclaim, but the older wizard beat him to it.

"I thought I made it clear what would happen to you should you break the rules again," he said. "But your memory seems too short so let me remind you."

He took a small pause, for the drama and fear, but this time it roused neither.

"I'm carrying a message from Professor McGonagall," Ginny announced, her stony expression not changing.

"Why didn't she inform me of this?" Moody snapped, not believing her this easily. "And what can be so important that she is using her students for it?"

Her voice was strong and unwavering as she replied, her gaze never straying from him as if she didn't see the two other people in the room.

"Professor McGonagall is dead. Voldemort is attacking Hogwarts as we speak."

It might have been the first time anyone had ever managed to render the old Auror speechless. His silence, however, didn't last for long.

* * *

**Reviews are still very welcomed!**


	26. Chapter 26: The End

**Note:** Yup, another chapter ready. Well, I had some trouble with starting it, and I did rewrite the first half a few times, but the second part was something that has been playing through my head for months now. As to the beginning, it might be a bit hectic and confusing, but believe me when I say that it was a lot more hectic and confusing before. :P

And despite the title, this is not the last chapter. There will be one more, and you probably won't have to wait too long for it.

Anyway, read & enjoy & review. :)

-----

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 26: The End**_  
_In which people fight, and people fall, and people die._

Little glowing worms slithered over the ground, forming a beautiful rainbow in the darkness, criss-crossing the field. Some were longer, some were shorter, some disappeared and reappeared on their journey. Or perhaps it was fireworks, colourful beams shooting through the air, chasing each other, laying an auroral blanket upon the land.

Or perhaps people, dozens and dozens of witches and wizards duelling, killing, dying. Curses flying all over the place, some less deadly, some more, some hitting their targets, some missing, some preserving lives, some taking.

Or perhaps a chaos of blinding colours, and deafening cries, and struggling bodies of both enemy and friend, and curses strayed from their paths ready to hit anyone standing in their way, and curses reflected back from magical shields, and curses going exactly where they were sent.

It all depended on the viewpoint. But one had to stand afar to have the luxury of imagining something beautiful instead of death and destruction, or they would be dead and destroyed themselves in a couple of moments, or perhaps even sooner. Staying alert was everything, yet sometimes still not enough.

The Astronomy Tower was high and therefore quite safe from all the curses cast, deflected, and dodged. A witch stood there now, having Apparated straight to the spot as soon as the last protective charm around the castle was broken, making no move to rush into the heated fight taking place below her. She looked more than content with remaining a silent observer till the end of it, but appearances may be deceiving. This witch didn't admire the rainbow of colours or the patterns they formed, she had no illusions whatsoever about what she was seeing; she was a witness to short-term victory and long-term death, and she knew it. She just didn't seem to care, and nothing changed in her expression as her eyes slid over someone falling, someone dying.

Down in the battlefield, another witch had stopped for a second, panting and looking around. She did care, in fact, she cared a lot. But she didn't have time to gather her breath and gather her thoughts for something ominously green was whizzing towards her. Throwing herself to the ground, she managed to avoid the curse, and without a moment's hesitation shot one of her own.

"Ginny, you all right?"

"I'm fine, Neville," she shouted back, jumping to her feet and sending the briefest of glances at her friend. He was fighting alone against three but as she turned to help him her own path was suddenly blocked by a Death Eater. It didn't take her too long to get rid of it, yet by that time Neville had disappeared from her view and she didn't go to look for him, afraid of what she could find.

"Watch out!" someone cried to her a while later, or perhaps it had been just a second, she couldn't tell, and she was able to duck just in time. A hand reached out to help her up, and accepting it Ginny found herself face to face with Lilya. Together they took down two more Death Eaters, and she continued to battle the third, belatedly noticing that the other girl was not at her side anymore. She saw her lying on the ground a little way off, but running to check if she was all right would have cost her own life at the moment. Her current opponent was not to be joked with, as he deflected her every curse, while his came dangerously close to her.

Not that there had been anything particularly funny about her shooting down all those other Death Eaters whom she had had the pleasure to meet, but this one was giving her serious trouble and even some gloomy thoughts about her chances of survival, which did anything but improve the next moment when one of his curses finally hit, lifting her up in the air and then letting drop back down. She landed on her back and none too gently, but whether by luck or skill or determination she had managed to hold on to her wand, and now fired back at once. The realization that she really should have cast a shield charm came a bit too late, because next thing she knew she was writhing on the ground and crying out in pain, as her skin was suddenly pierced by thousands of tiny needles, her insides seemed to have been set on fire, and her bones were rather sure that a three-ton anvil had been dropped upon them. Then it was over and she was left panting and gripping her wand, not yet capable of using it.

---

Pressing his left hand to his forehead to stop the bleeding, Neville peeked through his own blood at the dark figures in front of him, ready to cast a curse should they turn out to be enemies. But he never found out for sure whether they were friends or foes, because suddenly his attempt of sneaking up on them was bought to a shift end as he stumbled over something and lost his balance, hitting the ground rather painfully. Silently cursing to himself, he staggered to his feet, and made sure nothing deadly was coming his way before glaring down at the stupid object that had done this to him. It wasn't a stupid object. It was Lilya.

"Oh dear Merlin!" he cried in panic, falling to his knees. "Lilya! Lilya, can you hear me?"

Something flew over his head as he was crouching low over his friend, yet it couldn't have been a curse for he heard it landing on the other side, followed by several quick steps followed by silence. Neville dared not to move, in fear of drawing lethal attention to himself, yet only a second later all his concerns for his own safety were wiped away from his mind.

"Bulstrode!" an angry voice roared.

His head was up and turned before he was able to stop himself, not that he actually wanted to because there, right in front of him, stood Millicent, wearing a dark cloak but no hood, her face ghostly white and eyes full of fear. Her wand was raised, but there was something very strange about it, and he realized with horror that its tip had been broken off.

"Bulstrode!" another voice called, calm but mocking. "You left half of your wand behind."

"Here, Milla!" Neville shouted, tossing his own wand to the girl, who caught it with ease and fired off two spells, both hitting their targets.

"Tha—" Millicent began, then halted, her eyes flashing with surprise. Neville tried to smile back, but she wasn't even looking at him. Instead she let out a small whimper and sank to her knees.

His thoughts completely elsewhere and not in a very happy place, he grabbed Lilya's wand but before he was able to do anything else, something heavy slammed into him, and everything went black.

---

"Want some more, pretty girl?" a cold voice was taunting, yet this only gave her the strength to sit up and confront the enemy, her wand raised and ready. But Ginny wasn't ready for the face hovering above, sneering down at her, his mask and hood thrown away.

"Zabini," she hissed.

"Weasley," he returned, sounding almost polite.

"You are so dead," she muttered under her breath, lashing out with her wand, and screaming "This is for Hermione!" as red light erupted from it. Blaise cast a quick protective charm, reflecting the spell back to her, where she managed to roll away at the last moment, the curse missing her by inches.

"_Protego!_" she yelled just in time, scrambling to her feet as a purple beam bounced off her shield, disappearing into the swirl of colours and cries around them. She hoped it didn't hit anyone of their people, briefly wondering what it was anyway. She was able to deflect his next spell as well, shifting her weight from one foot to another, as her left ankle felt a bit sore, probably hurt from her recent forceful impact with the ground.

Although the fight had been difficult, the idea of giving up had not once passed through her head; yet now that she knew who exactly she was duelling with, her determination to survive seemed to have doubled. She kept ducking and dodging the curses, especially the green ones, not getting many chances to reply to them with her own. But then she thought of Hermione, and finally getting the opportunity to kick someone's ass for it almost felt as a privilege.

---

Unbeknownst to both of them, the observer at the top of the highest tower was following their every move, one hand gripping her wand and the other the handle of a broom. It would be a risky move, but not more than passing through the whole castle with its dark hallways full of lurkers and half of the fighters outside or Apparating perhaps right in front of a Killing Curse. Besides, she had practised it enough. It didn't hurt to prepare for something she might not do because there was always the chance of changing her mind. That's how it had been this time – the plans were ready and her every move perfected long before she had decided to come.

Now it was time to put those plans into action and make her first move. Climbing to the parapet and mounting the broom, she concentrated on the two small figures in the middle of a sea of bodies, pushing herself off the stone and into the air, hovering still for a moment before directing the handle downwards, speeding towards the death below, flying in an arch through the colourful darkness, casting a shield around herself once she had made it low enough to get hit by the wayward curses. However, before she managed to reach her target, a shot of green smashed through her charm, hitting the tail of her broom and blowing it to pieces, bringing a rather abrupt end to her flight.

"I knew there was a reason I'm not so fond of this," she muttered, aiming a spell at the ground to soften her landing. Her target was still some distance off and now there was no other option but to fight her way through. Not truly bothered by such turn of events, as she had prepared for this as well, she raised her wand against the first person blocking her path.

---

"Neville. Neville. Neville," someone was repeating his name over and over again. He tried to reply but his mouth and verbal chords refused to cooperate.

"Are you alive, Nev? Are you alive, my love?"

He felt a bolt of energy shot through his body at these words, and suddenly he was able not only to reply, but to sit up and open his eyes as well.

The first thing he saw was Millicent's smile, and he couldn't feel any happier. The second thing he saw was blood, and lots of it. This puzzled him, because in addition to a tolerable ache in his back there didn't seem to be anything wrong with him, and the cut in his forehead couldn't have bled this much.

"Relax, it's not your blood," she said, understanding the reason behind his confusion. "It's mine. All mine."

"Milla! You are hurt? Where?"

"I'm fine," she smiled again.

"But... Millie... the blood..." There was too much of it. There was too much blood. He stared at it for a moment longer, then raised his eyes to stare at her instead.

He saw her face, paler than before, almost ashen. He saw her lips, blue and quivering. He saw her eyes, open and looking straight into his. He saw the sparkle of life in their depths, growing fainter by the second. He saw all this, and yet it took him a long while before he was able to put all this together and realize what it meant.

"Millicent, you are hurt!" he exclaimed, fumbling with Lilya's wand. "Don't you worry, I know this very good healing spell, it cleans the wound and closes it up at once. You will be all right, don't worry. Just let me see where..."

"Neville," she spoke, something in her tone stopping his ramblings and forcing his eyes back to her face.

"Neville," she repeated, and he _knew_.

"Milla..."

"Your vow is fulfilled. You can stop searching now."

"Milla, I..."

"I was right, wasn't I? Or do you still despise me?"

"No! Milla, I..."

"I regret nothing," she said, closing her eyes. "You will bring me yellow tulips, won't you? I love yellow tulips."

"Of course!" he promised, tears coursing down his cheeks. "I will bring you a thousand yellow tulips. I will bring you yellow tulips every day. And we can grow yellow tulips in our garden, all around the house, Milla. I know a spell that will make them bloom all year round, so that every time you look out of a window, you will see a field of yellow tulips. And then we walk through them, together, always. And they will be pretty, but not as pretty as you. Nothing can be as pretty as you. Nothing, Milla."

---

"Get away, Weaslette, this one is mine."

Despite her vindictive thoughts Ginny knew that when it came to revenge, there were others deserving this chance more than her. Besides, just being released from another Cruciatus Curse, protesting didn't seem a good idea, or even possible before a few deep breaths. Not wanting to obstruct anyone's or anything's path, she crawled away from the scene, taking a moment's break before rushing back into the battle.

But she had barely stood up from her short rest when someone grabbed her hand and dragged her even further off, into the shadow of a tree by the lake, where the duelling hadn't reached yet. She wheeled round to curse her assaulter or at least ask for an explanation, but before she was able to utter a word, a most familiar voice demanded in urgent whisper,

"Are you alright, Gin? Is everyone else okay? Have you seen Lilya?"

"Yes, I don't know, yes," she replied all his questions at once, the sight of Lilya lying on the ground unmoving clear in her memory. For the sake of her brother she hoped the girl was alright, even though her brain was telling her the very opposite. People die in battles. They fall and they never stand up again, staring at the night sky lit by a rainbow of curses with glassy, unseeing eyes.

"Where is she? Is she alright?" came the question she had been dreading.

"I don't know, we fought together for a while," she told him, then suddenly realizing something and inquiring in turn, "Where is Harry?"

"I don't know," Ron answered miserably. "We were fighting and then he wasn't there anymore."

"But I'm sure he is fine," he quickly added, noticing the look on her face as she now imagined another person lying on the ground, green eyes empty and unseeing.

"We have to find him!" Ginny exclaimed, rushing off into the battle before he could stop her. He didn't hesitate to follow. She was right, they had to find Harry. Other things... could wait. Lord Voldemort couldn't.

---

The two mortal enemies had met on the far end of the battlefield, fighting like everyone else. One wasn't surrounded by his supporters as he might have been expected to, the other was as alone as he had been for most of his young life, the life that could end very soon. They had sent a few curses at each other, dodged them, and were now engaged in a glaring match, fighting with minds instead. The snake-like eyes focused on the green ones, but couldn't penetrate into the mind behind them as it was too full of feelings that caused him physical pain. He continued to stare, though, planning to distract him with this and then end him with a curse, but whenever he shot one, his opponent was quick to step aside, never taking his eyes off him.

Beside them, a few yards away, a body was thrown out of the mass of people, making a heavy thump as it landed, but neither of the duellers glanced towards the noise. They had their own battle to fight, and their concentration was so deep that perhaps they didn't even hear anything else than the breathing and soft steps of the other, or see anything but their opponent's face and movements.

Quite similarly, the flying figure hadn't noticed his master standing this close to him or he might have chosen another spot for his own duel, since even though the chance of getting hit by a spell was here in the periphery perhaps a bit smaller than elsewhere, he would have preferred three curses from anyone to one from his Dark Lord. Voldemort's curses were a lot harder to evade, and Blaise had no intention to die tonight. In fact, Blaise had no intention to die any time soon.

Draco, however, had every intention to kill him tonight.

Blaise was ready for his next curse, but he was not going to fight a battle from a sitting position. Although it would have spared him the trouble of standing up, it wasn't that easy to duck and dodge all the _Avada Kedavras_ he expected to receive any moment now this way. Thus it was time to test his secret weapon.

"C'mon, Draco, mate. You don't really want to kill me. We are friends," he said in a cheerful amiable tone, as if they were discussing the Quidditch scores behind two glasses of Firewhiskey.

"You are not a friend of mine," Draco declared harshly, taking a step closer, his wand pointed at the other's heart. "And you never were."

"We weren't best mates, I agree," Blaise continued in the same carefree manner. "But we often hanged out together, sat at the same table in Three Broomsticks or studied together in our common room. Remember the gang, Draco? Me and you and Pansy and Millicent. Sometimes Nott joined us as well, or Crabbe and Goyle when they weren't loose on the castle beating up some first year or buying the Honeydukes empty. And we had fun."

"That was before."

"Before what?"

"Before we each chose a different path."

"You mean before you strayed from yours," Blaise winked. "Don't pretend that your left arm is as white and pure as snow in Murmansk."

Draco flinched at the mention of that location, and Blaise smiled inwardly. His plan was already working and he had only just begun. Oh, this was going to be good. Oh, he was really going to enjoy this.

"Ah, Murmansk," he breathed, gripping his wand tighter and noticing Draco do the same, yet not hurry to cast a spell. "I really liked that place. Had great times there as well. You should have come to visit me there, away from all this mess, picking sides, and dying for what someone else deemed a worthy cause."

"I did come to see you there, remember?"

Blaise remembered. He remembered being beaten to a bloody lump before he managed to escape. It just happened not to be his best memory of his stay in Murmansk.

"I bought it from Dolohov. The castle, I mean," he continued, ignoring the remark. "He inherited it from some relative but thought the location too cold and distant. Even the Dark Lord thought it too cold and distant for his Headquarters. Thus I was able to get my hands on it. But now it's owned by your people, isn't it? Have you been there since our last meeting? I hope you took her there, Astraea really loved the place."

Draco advanced on him, his glance darker and more threatening than before, and Blaise kept staring at the wand pointed at him, ready to raise his own or roll out of the way, peeking at the distance between them from the corner of his eye. He was almost close enough, one more step and...

"Don't speak that name," came the warning.

"What name? Astraea? Fine. I did call her Hermione in the beginning. And a lot more things, as well, some whispered to her ear, some screamed out into the night. And she was rather vocal, too, I have to say, although you probably already know it."

Blaise leered at him, seeing a dark flash in his eyes, and knowing that the time had come.

"_Avada Kedavra_!" yelled Draco, but the curse missed its target for even before he managed to say out the words, Blaise had kicked him in the shins, the blow so forceful that he had stumbled backwards, and his hand had lost the aim, sending the curse up into the dark sky overhead. But Blaise was not done. Seeing his moment of opportune as Draco was still catching his balance, he waved his own wand, shooting out an arrow of yellow light, which raised his opponent into the air, carried him over a few yards, and then dropped unceremoniously back down.

Unlike Ginny's, and despite his deadly grip, Draco's wand somehow still managed to slip from his fingers, leaving him helpless, angry, and about to die.

Blaise stood up, slowly, deliberately, pulling himself to his full height.

"It seems our positions have been switched," he said, pointing his wand at Draco. "Again. So there is justice in the world. And I intend to enjoy her to the fullest."

"She will be never yours," Draco spat, feeling the ground beside him for the lost wand. It couldn't have dropped too far. He didn't dare to look and inform Blaise of what he was trying to do, but he had to find it. He had to stop Blaise from going after Hermione like he promised. She was free, and she was going to remain free, free and safe from the sick ideas of this sick bastard. And for that he somehow had to prevent this sick bastard from killing him until he found his wand. He tried _his_ way – talking – but it seemed that Blaise had grown a bit tired of their chit-chat.

"Well, it was nice catching up with you," he announced coolly, a wicked gleam burning gleefully in the depths of his eyes. "But now I really have to kill you."

Still desperately fumbling for his wand that was eluding his searching fingers, Draco replied with a gaze as hateful and defiant as he managed. Blaise must have found something funny in it because he laughed, and delayed Draco's death sentence for another moment, for which he was truly grateful.

"Unless you wish to beg for mercy, of course," he smirked, looking like he was having the time of his life. Draco, surprised by such an offer, even stopped his search for the wand for a second, but only for a second. Blaise, however, was not done yet.

"Yes, I think I'd like that," he continued with a small nasty smile. "Beg for your life, and I'll let you live."

"No!" he cried without a thought, the word slipping over his lips quite at its own accord. He knew that Blaise was going to kill him anyway, but begging might give him the time he needed to recover his wand. And yet he simply couldn't bring himself to it, he couldn't beg for his life in front of this sick bastard, not even... not even if pleading for mercy meant keeping this animal away from Hermione for good?

Blaise must have seen something shift in his expression because his smile widened and he let out an evil cackle.

"Yes, be a nice boy and beg for mercy," he prompted. "Beg me. Beg me like **she **did."

"No!"

Again the word had left his mouth before he managed to catch it, but this time it was something else that had brought it forth, and Blaise was smart enough to notice that.

"Oh yes," he smiled. "You should have heard how she begged me. Begged me not to kill her, begged me not to hurt her, down on her knees looking up at me with two teary doe-eyes. How could I resist her wish if she put it like that? I let her live and took good care of her, very good care, in fact..."

Draco dug his fingers into the earth, trying to stop himself from attacking Blaise with his bare hands. The idea felt delicious, but also deadly. Blaise had been careful not to step too close to him, and in the current situation he'd be dead before he even managed to jump to his feet.

"Of course, she begged me to stop _that_ night as well. But I showed her that it was nothing to fear, nothing to fear at all. And after a few struggles and a couple of tears, I think she realized it as well."

For a moment Draco could see only red and his thoughts had made a considerable shift. His wand was gone, Merlin knows where it had flown, and sitting still and trying to reach for it was a remarkably useless plan. He had to get up, he had to attack Blaise, he had to beat him to such a bloody lump that no amount of healing magic could revive and restore him. True, the bastard had a wand, but perhaps he would be taken by surprise, perhaps he would be too slow with his Killing Curse, perhaps he would stumble in his rush to get away from him, perhaps he would be hit by a stray curse first, perhaps he would...

"Lie."

Perhaps he would lie. What? Draco wondered over the origin of this strange thought for one moment before the answer was revealed to both him and Blaise, who hadn't expected it either and was equally surprised, although still pointing the wand at him.

"This is a lie, and you know it quite well, Blaise darling," she said, appearing from the darkness like some sort of night spirit. "I never ever begged you for anything, and I never will."

Astraea limped nearer, her chin raised proudly and a determined look on her face. The fact that her left cheek and shoulder were covered in blood, her clothes were muddy and torn, and her right foot was still dimly glowing from the spell she had used to seal a wound might have lessened the glory of her dramatic return, but her fiery glance almost made up for it. In her rush to get there in time she had been careless enough not to notice a few spells she should have seen, but those had been nothing serious and now she had finally arrived at her destination.

She stopped between Blaise and Draco so that they could both see and admire her, and that they did. The expression of shock on Blaise's face reflected on Draco's, the latter too surprised to use the former's momentary loss of attention to his benefit.

The way she stood there – bloody, muddy, but a triumphant smirk on her lips – Draco felt she had never looked this beautiful. She was absolutely gorgeous, and incredibly brave, and... here.

This thought brought a swift end to his amazed stupor, but his first move was not to look and lunge for his wand.

"You promised me to stay away," he exclaimed, feeling ridiculously disappointed and even betrayed.

"I know," she replied, almost reducing him to a pile of ashes with the fire in her glance. "I thought someone would tell you that my promise is worth nothing, that it holds weight only as long as it's beneficial for me."

"Beneficial?" Draco raised his brow, a gesture that had once been so familiar to her. "If you wanted to end up bloody and wounded, then there are, believe me, much better and safer ways to do it."

Throwing her head back, Astraea let out a clear laugh that continued to ring in his ears long after she had finished. In real world it was drowned in the ocean of cries, shouts and bangs around them, but in his head it was so loud he wondered why everyone hadn't abandoned their fighting yet and run here to see what the matter was.

Blaise, overcoming his confusion at last, gave the woman a sly look, his grin maniacal as he turned back to Draco.

"Would you do me the honours, sweetheart?" he addressed her, his expression conveying a crystal clear message – _I win_.

And as Astraea raised her wand and pointed it at his heart, he realized that Blaise was indeed right. He had won. No matter the outcome of the battle, he had her. She had come back to help him, and that spoke more than anything either of them had ever said or done. She had chosen Blaise. He did win.

She measured his crouching figure with her burning eyes, then her mouth curved into a brilliant honest happy smile, and he felt his heart melt, despite the situation, despite everything.

The words were on her lips, but before she was able to speak them, Blaise suddenly interrupted.

"Wait!" he cried. "Just torture him. I want to finish this one myself."

"I won't kill him," she promised, never taking her glance off him.

He tried to memorize her face, the look in her eyes, the smile on her lips, every little detail about her. She looked happy, exactly the way he wanted to remember her, although it would probably not matter. But even in death he wanted to remember her, the way she smiled, the way her eyes sparkled. He could faintly recall that there was something he had wanted to tell her, something that she had to know, but now was not the time. Certain that he had memorized everything, that he would not forget her even in death, he took a deep breath, and as he saw her move, closed his eyes, a small smile on his lips as well.

"_Expelliarmus_!"

_But I don't have a wand_, he thought in confusion and opened his eyes to see one flying straight to him. He caught it from the air and frowned at it, before raising his glance and seeing Blaise – shocked to the core and wandless. Almost afraid of what he might witness, yet having no idea what he should fear, Draco turned towards Astraea.

Astraea, who had turned both her head and wand towards Blaise.

"What... w-what are you doing?" the wandless, helpless man stuttered.

"I am doing what I came here to do," she replied, her voice harsh and steady.

"But... you're... you're pointing your wand at me!" Blaise exclaimed, clearly not ready to believe what seemed to have happened, thinking it was some sort of misunderstanding.

Draco couldn't blame him for it. He had a hard time coming to terms with it as well.

"Exactly," Astraea nodded in total certainty. "I'm pointing my wand at you."

"But, darling... you can't mean this... I've always taken care of you. You can't turn against me like this. You can't."

"Taken care of? Taken care of?" she screeched, finally losing her temper. "Do you remember, Blaise _darling_, the last time we were together? Do you remember? Do you _remember_?"

"Well, yes, I..."

"You left me there, Blaise! Wandless, helpless, you left me there! And now you speak of always taking care of me!"

"Is that why you are so upset?" he inquired, looking relieved at that. "You must realize, baby, that I had to go. They would have killed me, but you were in no danger. I knew you would be alright and safe, and I knew you were smart enough to get away from them and come back to me. C'mon darling, I was only doing what was best for you. I have always done what is best for you. I love you, darling, you know that."

A pale yellow light burst from her wand, hitting Blaise in his chest, knocking him off his feet and hard against the ground.

"Love me! Love me! You don't know the meaning of that word, Blaise. You haven't loved anyone for a long time, or perhaps even ever. And you certainly don't love me. Do you want to see love? Do you want to know what it is? Then look there, Blaise, look!" she cried, pointing her left hand at Draco, making him startle at this even more unbelievable turn of events.

"That's love, Blaise. He is ready to die for me, he is happy to die by my hand if it makes me smile. He stayed loyal to me to the end, and beyond. He stayed loyal despite me taking every opportunity to hurt him, to sneer at him and his feelings for me. He sent me away when I was almost ready to stay because he wanted me to be safe. He is ready to give everything, everything he has for me. He is willing to lose everything, _everything_, including his future, his happiness, his life just to make me happy. And still, after everything I have done, after everything that has happened, even when he thought I was going to kill him, he still loves me, and he loves me so much than I can see it from his eyes, that I can feel it radiating off him. That's love, Blaise. That's love."

"So this is it?" Blaise inquired, having collected himself during her heated ranting. "You choose him? After everything I did for you, you still choose him?"

"You stabbed me!" she bellowed on top of her voice. "You took me by force! You had me tortured for seven days! You gave me an impossible choice! You destroyed me, no, you did worse. You forced me to destroy myself. You forced me to hate all that I loved and respected, you forced me to despise my principles and ideals, you forced me to become someone, _something_ I loathe!"

"I gave you a choice!" Blaise roared. "It was your choice. Don't blame me for your decision."

"You made me believe I would lose everything!" she yelled. "And then you made me lose everything. Everything I loved, respected, treasured, everything that was dear to me. And you made me lose myself!"

"I only made you stronger," he sneered, clearly disapproving her behaviour and words.

"I know," Astraea replied, calming down in a second. "And perhaps you were right. Perhaps I would have lost everything, perhaps I did make a right choice."

"Yes, exactly," he reassured her, trying to sound comforting. "You made the right choice, darling. All is well. Just lower your wand, sweetheart. I won't blame you for this little tantrum. You had every reason to be angry at me after I left you behind in Murmansk. I understand. All is well, darling."

"Yes," she agreed, but didn't lower her wand. "All is well. Or at least all would have been well if you had only wanted to teach me how to be strong, how to survive."

"But that's exactly what I did, sweetheart," Blaise spoke, confused at where she was going with that talk.

"Yes, but you did something else as well."

"What did I do, darling?"

"You tried to own me."

"I..."

"You tried to possess me," she continued. "You tried to forge my destiny for me. And that's where you went wrong."

"I just," he began, still not completely understanding what all the fuss was about.

"You taught me to be strong," she said. "Yet you wanted to command me. You taught me to be independent, yet you wanted to chain me to yourself. You taught me to belong to no one, yet you wanted me to become yours. Do you not see your mistake, Blaise? Do you not see the glaring contradiction in this?"

"But I never kept you there against your will, darling," he spoke very slowly, as if talking to a child or an idiot. "You were free to go at any time. You had your wand and you took long walks outside every day."

"I'm not stupid, Blaise," she narrowed her eyes at him. "Yes, I had my wand, and yes, I could go outside. But you know as well as I that I couldn't leave. You had cast a protective dome around the castle, preventing me from Disapparating or walking through it. And you should remember the time I tried to break through the charms. It took me three days to recover, and a week more to be able to walk again. I told you I got curious of the outside world, and you explained to me that it was too dangerous, and all those protective charms were there to keep intruders out. You spoke to me about werewolves and other ghastly creatures. But you never let me leave, and you knew I knew it."

"So perhaps I did," he admitted reluctantly. "But that was just for your own safety, babe. As I said, it **was** dangerous outside."

"And I'm very sorry about that incident," he added as an afterthought.

"I'm sure you are. Especially now that I'm pointing my wand at you."

"You could have done that before!" Blaise exclaimed, a new idea suddenly coming to him. "You could have stolen my wand and broken through all those charms, or made me do it for you. There were quite many moments when you had me distracted and completely at your mercy."

He winked at her.

"Yet you took every precaution there was. It was too risky, and had I failed you would have killed me."

"And if you fail now? What if I kill you now?"

"You won't. And even if you do," she flashed him a smile. "I've got back-up this time."

As if on cue, Draco raised the wand and pointed it at its owner. The brief shadow of fear passing over Blaise's face indicated that he had seen it.

"But not now, Draco," she said, not turning to look at him. "This one is mine."

"Are you sure, Hermione?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Blaise opened his mouth, discovered that he had no words left, and raised his hands in the sign of surrender, hoping to make peace with her. Indeed she stared at his bare hands, but peace was a long way off her mind.

"This has to be fair, I suppose. I was once a Gryffindor, and am now named after the goddess of justice. Draco, summon your own wand and give his back to Blaise."

"What? Hermione, you can't..."

"Do it!" she shouted and without another objection he _accio_'ed his own wand and threw the other to Blaise, who caught it with a look of surprise on his face, not able to believe his luck.

"Let's see if the student beats the master," she said, and without another word cast her first spell, non-verbally erecting a shield in front of her. Blaise's curse hit it a second later, and the fight had begun.

"You still have a chance," he cried to her, deflecting the spell she had shot back at her, forcing her to duck from it.

"No, I don't," she replied, crouching down to escape the curse and sending out another one. "And neither do you."

"You are a silly, silly girl!" he exclaimed, sneering at her as his Severing Charm grazed her elbow, cutting into her skin.

"No, Draco! Keep back. He's mine. My revenge!" she cried, and he obeyed reluctantly, still keeping Blaise at wandpoint, though.

"And it's better to be a silly, silly girl than dead," she commented, hurling a Killing Curse his way.

"Gryffindor golden girl using Unforgivables," he remarked in a reprimanding tone, stepping away from the green beam. "What would your dear Potter say to that?"

"What can I say, you taught me well," she grinned, casting a shield charm again. "But what about you? No _Avada Kedavra_s yet, I can't help but notice."

"Oh, there are so much cleverer ways to kill, and I have one such reserved specially for you."

"A knife and lots of blood?" she guessed after a few moments of heated fight, dodging his curses and replying to them with her own.

"How did you know?" he shouted with mock surprise, smirking as the beam of light erupting from the end of his wand broke into three separate rays all rushing at the target.

Astraea deflected one, sending it crushing into the second, and jumped away from the third, which instead of disappearing into the darkness, stopped, turned around, and shot back at her.

"You never taught me this one!" she cried indignantly, trying to fend off the determined worm of crimson that kept coming back to her.

"Good thing I didn't!" he called back, watching her destroy the red light with green.

"Killing curse with Killing Curse!" she announced triumphantly, making the air shine emerald again.

"Green is Slytherin!" Blaise declared, still alive and unhurt.

"Harry's eyes are green," she shot back, casting a semitransparent mist around her that swallowed and dissolved five more of the determined worms, as she had come to call the curse in her mind.

"The Dark Mark is green," Blaise went on, putting up a magical umbrella against the raining sparks; he had laughed at the silly thing first, but after an innocent sparkle had burnt through his skin he turned quite serious at once.

"Freshly-pickled toads are green!"

Perhaps it wasn't the best comeback, but he found it funny, and she aimed two spells at him while he was cackling at the joke. Blaise, the stupid jerk he was, managed to avoid both, but as he jumped away from them, something else caught her eye.

Freshly-pickled toads indeed!

It was the first time she noticed the duo, Harry and Voldemort, just a few steps away from them. Nothing was flying through the air between them, even though both duellers had their wands raised and ready. Sweat was glinting on Harry's forehead, and the ghost of a future grin lingered on Voldemort's mouth, growing stronger by the moment. Harry didn't look too good, and it took Astraea a whole second to make up her mind.

And then suddenly many things happened at once. Four wands were directed and waved, four spells were said and cast, and five lives were at stake.

Golden light erupted from Voldemort's wand, but Harry threw himself to the ground, letting it pass over his head.

A beam of lilac shot from Astraea's, but instead of flying at Blaise, it went after Voldemort, causing him no harm since he was more than capable of blocking it, yet at the same time drawing his attention away from Harry giving him time to get up and get ready.

Seeing her look the other way and Blaise taking advantage of it, Draco finally defied Hermione's command and took a shot at him. The two had battled too long, and though neither seemed closer to the victory, Blaise was in a better shape and therefore too dangerous for her. He didn't know what she might do to him for stealing her revenge, but he knew he should have done this a long time ago, despite her words. And he was right – he should have done it a long time ago.

Because Blaise had managed to utter a curse of his own, and his first _Avada Kedavra_ in this duel was now speeding straight at Astraea, who did turn back in time to see it and wonder why he had given up his other, cleverer way to take her life.

And then she understood.

And then she acted without a second thought, without a first thought, without any thinking at all, because if something else than _Oh bloody hell!_ had passed through her mind, she wouldn't have done what she now did.

It was a simple fact she had realized, simple and quite harmless, or at least it should have been harmless.

The Killing Curse had not been aimed at her at all. It had been aimed at Draco. At Draco who was intently watching the progress of his own spell, noticing the one directed at him only after she had made her move.

And then he knew he had no time to move, no time to shout, no time to figure something out, no time to prevent him losing everything. He had hesitated before, and now there was no time left.

And then the curse hit, and he saw only green, and then...

Astraea tumbled to the ground, and Draco let out a long wail which sounded foreign and inhuman and somehow distracted Voldemort giving Harry the chance he had been waiting for.

But Draco hadn't heard his own cry, nor did he see Voldemort's smile turning into a frown turning into an expression of surprised fear. He saw nothing, he heard nothing, he thought nothing, and for a blessed moment he also felt absolutely nothing. But then the moment passed, and he crawled to the figure lying on the grass, so small in her crumpled form, looking so innocent and helpless that he could not hold back his tears.

It took him a while to understand what had happened, and even longer to realize that it had actually happened.

"You silly, silly girl," he sobbed, repeating Blaise's words from earlier.

And if Astraea had been able to reply, she would have agreed that it had indeed been a very silly thing to step in front of the Killing Curse and give her life for a man she hadn't loved for a long time.


	27. Chapter 27: Too Much Has Happened

**Note: **Well, here it is - the last chapter. Sounds awfully final, doesn't it? But I hope you'll enjoy it anyway. :)

**Disclaimer:** Still don't own _Harry Potter_.

* * *

**Everything To Lose**

_**Chapter 27: Too Much Has Happened**  
In which nothing truly ends._

The realization had hit him, understanding had come, but acceptance was still as far off as ever. Just like the last time, those horrible days and weeks when he had known very well that he might never see her again, that she might be long dead, but had still kept looking for her. Because he couldn't give up. Because he couldn't accept the fact that she was gone, that his darkest fear had come true and he had lost her for good.

And then he had found her. It had been nothing short of a miracle, and he had been beside himself with joy and relief and happiness, sending little useless words of gratitude to all the deities he didn't believe in. But he knew that if the miracle had not happened, if he had not found her, he would have continued his search for her. Days, months, years – until finding her or losing his own life. Perhaps some day acceptance would have arrived as well, although he had a feeling that a small part of him would have remained hopeful till the hour of his death.

But he had found her. And then he had found out some other things, some not so thrilling things about her. He still remembered lying on their bed with her in his arms and crying. What a fool he had been! What a fool he had been for not realizing how lucky he was. He had found her – a miracle, he had held her – a miracle, she was alive – a miracle. But he had gone all gloomy and depressed over some small change in her character. He had been a fool, and now...

And now...

Now he was holding her again, pulling her closer to him, gently rocking them both. His arms were around her waist, cradling her limp body, pressing it tighter against his, protecting her from anything and everything. His head was placed on her shoulder, against her neck, against her hair that he had come to love so much, his tears mingling with her blood. He was muttering, whispering things into her ear, not hearing or comprehending at least half of them.

"You silly, silly girl," he repeated every few moments. "You promised me to stay away. You promised. Why didn't you keep that promise, you silly, silly girl?"

His voice bore no emotion now, all the disappointment and accusation was gone, and even the sadness and pain had leaked away. Now it sounded as if he was simply making a statement that she was a silly girl who had not kept her promise, no feelings attached.

If only... but he didn't want that. He wanted to feel, even though it hurt worse than hell, even though it hurt as if his heart had been made of glass and someone had crushed it, and now there were millions of tiny razor-sharp pieces circulating in his blood, tearing apart his insides and crawling under his skin. And he cherished that feeling, because she had made him feel that, because he was still cradling her unmoving body against his, because she was there and he would never let go of her. Twice he had made that mistake, and twice she had come back to him, and there would not be a third time.

"Why?" he asked, and his voice cracked.

"Why?" he screamed, then rested his head on top of hers and tried not to think about what had happened, tried to fend off the reality, tried to simply hold her and relish the moment, stroke her hair and feel her skin and pull her even closer to him.

But the reality was relentless, and denied him even this last bliss, attacking him from every direction, bringing back the most recent memories he so wished he could forget. She had been standing _there_, strong and brave and determined. That bastard Zabini had been _there_, full of malice and contempt and certainty. He had been sure of his victory, but she hadn't come here to lose either. They had both fought to win, yet before the situation could tilt in anyone's favour, she had looked away. What had she seen? What had been so important that it had drawn her attention away from her own duel, her own revenge, her own safety? And then Zabini had fired the spell, and she had turned back just in time, and she had seen the curse coming, and she had stepped aside. And for a fraction of a second after noticing all this, he had felt relief that she had managed to avoid the deadly beam. And then...

And then he had seen the truth.

"Why?" he asked again in an almost inaudible whisper. "Why did you give your life for mine? Why? Don't you know that my life has no meaning without you? Don't you know that I can't live on without you? Why did you have to come back? Why couldn't you have stayed away somewhere safe? I would have taken care of Blaise, even if it would have killed me. Why couldn't you have stayed away and lived for both of us? Why couldn't you have kept this one promise? Why?"

There was no answer, not that he was expecting any.

"It doesn't matter," he muttered in a while. "You broke the promise, you came, and you died. You have left me again, and this time for good. Or perhaps... can I come after you? I did it the first time, I would have done it the second, and nothing can stop me now."

Again he felt the ground for his wand, although for an entirely different purpose than before, and if he had found it this time, he wouldn't have hesitated to carry out his plan. But again his wand eluded him, as if knowing for what its master needed it, and reluctant to do his bidding. He slid his empty hand back into her hair, a much better place for it.

"What will I do without you?" he asked in earnest.

He knew he couldn't stay that way forever. He knew that they would come and take her away from him, and then he would never see her again, at least not outside his dreams. And they would expect him to go on living, to get over this, to forget her... At this thought he shook his head, and again tried not to think. They would come... but not yet. He still had time. He hadn't had time before, but now there was a moment with his name on it, and he was going to make the most of it.

---

The sky was considerably lighter when Draco finally raised his head and opened his eyes, looking around in the peculiarly empty battlefield. True, a distant swirl of colours told him that somewhere someone was still fighting, but everything around him was dim and quiet. He briefly considered going to help, then decided against it. He had helped them enough, now it was time they helped themselves. Besides, it would have meant leaving her behind, and he couldn't do that. As if ashamed of ever weighing this idea, he pressed a remorseful kiss to her temple, starting to murmur again.

"Why did you... you promised... dead... happy to take the curse myself... I was a fool... stay safe... promise... come back... battle... dead... dead... dead...

"And now you are dead," he said, as if realizing this only now. He didn't, but there was such finality in these words, spoken at almost daybreak, that he could once again feel each and every one of those sharp little pieces slowly tearing him apart. The pain had never ceased but now it escalated into unbearable heights.

And Draco realized that he couldn't deny the events of this night any longer, couldn't pretend that they hadn't happened, couldn't shut himself away from the truth.

"You are dead, Hermione," he repeated, wishing that he would find his wand soon and be able to follow her, before someone tried to stop him. But instead of looking for it, and probably finding it because there was enough light now, he closed his eyes again.

"You are dead..."

"Well," a voice drawled, but he didn't move, hoping it would go away and leave him alone. It didn't.

"Actually," it continued, not taking his silent hint to get lost, "you are wrong."

"What?" Draco asked, now confused as well as annoyed.

"You are wrong. I'm not dead."

"What?" he said again, trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

"I'm not dead."

"I was talking to Hermione," he hissed menacingly, indicating that this was a private conversation and the stupid person disturbing his peace had better shut up and go away. Or else he should really have to locate his wand.

There was no answer for a moment, and he had already managed to relax when...

"I am Hermione. And alive."

"What?" Draco's mind went blank.

"And rather surprised. It took me quite a while, you know, to realize that I'm actually not dead."

Draco's mind stayed blank for some more time, then slowly started processing things again, searching for an explanation. He had gone mad and was hearing voices now. Yes, that sounded plausible. Or someone really, really evil and soon really, really dead was playing some sort of sick game with him. Or... or...

"No, this is impossible," he said, trying and failing to convince himself. This was impossible. It was utterly and completely and totally impossible. But one miracle had happened to him already, and if this was true... if he was given a second chance (or perhaps a third or fourth one, since he had been quite a fool in the past)... if this was true...

He felt someone moving in his embrace, and then someone touching his arms, touching his chest, and finally touching his face. Someone's soft hands were now caressing his cheeks, grazing over his forehead, brushing through his hair. And damn him if he didn't recognize those touches, those hands, damn him if he would ever forget them.

This was **impossible**. This was **happening**.

Draco finally gave up on logic and drew her into a tight hug, all those little sharp pieces of his heart suddenly jumping with joy when he heard her breathe.

"This is impossible," he still remarked, feeling the need to say it despite not letting this small detail get in the way of his happiness any longer.

"No, just highly improbable," she replied, and he knew she was smiling.

It took him a while longer to dare loosen his hold of her a bit, and then several more moments until he was ready to open his eyes. Still half-afraid that this was all a figment of his imagination proclaiming future insanity, he finally did it, and then all his fear evaporated into a puff of air as he saw the dark eyes gazing back into his, the so familiar face, and especially the smile that had haunted his dreams for quite a while.

"Draco?" she whispered timidly, and he couldn't understand why she sounded as if she had done something wrong when she had actually done something incredibly right – she had survived. Unable to suppress his desire, he pulled her to him again, but when he went to lean his head upon her shoulder, she turned and captured his lips instead, and it was pure surprise that kept him from answering to her kiss at first, though he made a fast recovery.

---

"Hermione," he spoke after an indefinite amount of time, when they were both content with simply holding each other.

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure you are alive?" It was a stupid question, but he had to ask her. She was very smart, after all, and if she was certain about it then it had to be so.

"I wasn't when I came to my senses," she confessed. "And when the idea first occurred to me, I feared it might be just wishful thinking. But now..."

She paused and placed a small kiss to his neck.

"Now I'm sure," she ended with a smile.

"Even though it's impossible for us, unscarred mortals, to survive a Killing Curse?"

He wondered whether he should dump the whole impossibility issue for good, but curiosity still got the better of him.

"Oh, I hope Harry is alright," she said with all seriousness but didn't propose that they should go looking for him as he had expected, instead proceeding to answer his question. "Yes, even though it's impossible for us, unscarred mortals, to survive a Killing Curse."

"Then please enlighten me, Granger, how you, an unscarred mortal, managed to survive a Killing Curse when even you admit that it's impossible." He kept his tone light and teasing, but his feelings were quite the opposite. Talking about these matters, he couldn't help but realize just how lucky he was, and just how easily things might have turned out the other way, the worst way possible. And this scared the hell out of him.

"Elementary," she smirked. "I didn't get hit by it."

"But I saw you getting hit," Draco insisted, the cruel memory flashing before his eyes.

"You saw me falling down. You saw the curse reach me and me falling down. And you are right, I did get hit. Only not by an _Avada Kedavra_."

"You mean Blaise threw a non-lethal spell at me!" he exclaimed, perhaps more surprised at this than at all the other unbelievable things that had happened.

"No," she said at once, then corrected. "Well, I can't say for sure, but knowing Blaise... no. It was definitely a Killing Curse."

Seeing the half-puzzled half-angry expression on Draco's face, she went on to explain.

"I didn't get hit by Blaise's curse. There was another one, coming from another person, that reached me half a second earlier than the _Avada Kedavra_."

"What? What curse? Where did it come from?"

Hermione laughed.

"Here comes the really ironic part."

"What?" he demanded.

"That spell was Voldemort's. It was directed at Harry, who managed to duck in time, and while Voldemort was taking care of this little curse I sent his way, Harry got back up and ready."

"So that's what distracted you," he said with understanding. She had caught sight of Harry in trouble and helped him out. Of course. Funny, he had never noticed Potter fighting the Dark Lord right next to them. Well, good thing she did. And didn't get killed for it. Which was pretty lucky considering...

"Wait," Draco said slowly as something suddenly dawned on him. "Are you saying that Voldemort saved your life?"

"Yes," she nodded with a wide grin. "And you say that surviving a Killing Curse is impossible."

"That's quite an incredible story indeed," he agreed, smiling at the irony of this. "Although... why is Voldemort using non-lethal spells?"

"Ah," she smiled cryptically, giving him the sly look which indicated that once again she knew something that he didn't; a look that normally would have infuriated him to no end, but now, having been without it for too long, he found it most endearing.

"This was a clever spell, and a clever move from Voldemort's part. While the _Avada Kedavra_ is one single beam, this spell, whatever it was, created a whole wave of light. Which was wide enough to hit even if Harry had jumped aside, expecting a Killing Curse. It would have knocked him unconscious and what an easy task for Voldemort to kill him then. But for some reason, either instinct or luck or some flash in Voldemort's eyes, Harry threw himself to the ground, and that saved him."

He had listened to her in awe, but as her speech came to an end, he couldn't help but add,

"Yet he might have still died had you not risked your own neck for his."

"You give me too much credit," she said. "It wasn't something I did on impulse – I knew I had enough time to do it and also block whatever Blaise would throw my way."

_Unlike the thing I did after it_, she silently mused, still wondering what exactly had made her do it.

"Unlike the other thing you did," he whispered, as if reading her mind, yet it was said more to himself and she ignored it, even though she had heard it fine, being as close to him as she was.

"When did you figure this out?" he asked instead. "The part about Voldemort's curse, I mean."

"When I was debating whether I'm dead or alive."

"Don't tell me you made a mental list of arguments to support both options!" He secretly wished she had because that would have been simply so Hermione.

"Something like that," she replied with a sheepish smile, then suddenly turned most grim. "Of course, this explanation did have a downside."

"What was that?" he inquired with a frown.

"If I was knocked down by Voldemort's curse and Blaise had sent that _Avada Kedavra_ to you... well, you see my point."

"I should be dead," Draco nodded, thinking back to the horrible event. At that moment, though, his own safety had been the last thing on his mind, if there at all, but he thought he remembered something very green, and now it actually made sense. Blaise's curse must have passed him only by inches.

"It seems that Zabini missed me," he said in a dark yet satisfied tone. "Serves that bastard right."

"Perhaps," she replied, but not with conviction. "Blaise has a good aim. I know."

"And how would you know?" he muttered without thinking, realizing his mistake only when she had already replied to it.

"I lived with him for six weeks. Of course I know," she shrugged casually, nothing in her tone or demeanour indicating that this experience had been particularly bad.

Draco, however, found that he couldn't take it quite so lightly, because it reminded him of things he had forgotten for a while. Astraea Zabini had fooled them before. But now... she had come here to fight Blaise, not to help him. She had risked her life for Harry's, no matter how much she denied it. And she would have died for him, had a very improbable coincident not taken place. This was no act, this was all true, genuine, honest.

But however brief his doubts had been, she had still noticed them flicker in his eyes, and before he realized what was happening, she extracted herself from his embrace and stood up, taking a few steps away from him.

"Hermione..." he began, surprised and puzzled at this strange behaviour.

"No," she stopped him. "Don't. Don't apologize, or explain, or... or anything. I know. Too much has happened. I mean... I know all that happened... I remember every single detail, and most of them weren't very pretty."

"Hermione," he said again, now truly alarmed. Damn him for ever having any doubts! He was a damn fool, that's what he was. It was a miracle that she was alive, it was a miracle that he'd been given yet another chance, and now he had already managed to mess it up. He didn't deserve her, not that it was any news. Damn Weasel for being right!

"No," she repeated, taking another backwards step. "Why... why are you calling me this?"

"It's your name, isn't it?"

"Yes. No. I don't know." She was looking so lost that it pained him, and more than anything he wanted to go to her and hold her again and tell her just how much he loved her. And once he had managed to make that clear to her, he would kick his own ass for being a damn fool.

"You... you didn't think I was Hermione the last time we... met," she remarked a bit nervously.

"Well, you weren't," he gave the only answer he could think of.

"No, I suppose not," she nodded her head, but then quickly shook it instead. "But I was. I almost was. And I haven't changed that much in the meantime... just a bit. You must have known..."

"Known what?" he asked carefully, wondering whether he had fucked things up for good, or there was still some way of fixing them.

"That I would have stayed!" she hissed, fire burning in her eyes. The little lost girl was suddenly gone, and the woman that stood at her place was determined and self-assertive and knew exactly what she wanted. The transformation had happened so quickly that it both surprised and frightened him. This was the Astraea he knew and... loved. Because he did love her, whatever she called herself and however she acted.

"I would have stayed with you that day," she announced in a cool detached way. "But you didn't want me to."

"I only wanted you to be safe!" he cried, desperate to make her understand.

"I know," she replied calmly. "But how well did that work out?"

"You shouldn't have come back!" he shouted, losing control of himself. Too much had happened in too little time and he really needed a rest or something. A large glass of Firewhiskey wouldn't have hurt either. "You promised me you wouldn't."

"I had to!" she growled back, her tone dark and powerful. "I had to come. And not only for revenge."

"Then wh--" Draco started but didn't get any further, because at that moment something truly horrible happened.

All of a sudden, a dark figure had materialized right behind Hermione, and grabbed her by waist before he managed to cry out a warning. She turned and tried to twist out of his grasp, but she didn't have her wand while the figure had something completely else.

She stopped her struggles as the cold blade was pressed against her throat.

"Tell us, honey," the malicious voice taunted. "Tell us why you came, darling, other than to kill me of course."

"You are alive, Blaise," she gasped, then wondered why this came as a surprise to her. She hadn't killed him, she hadn't seen him die. She had just forgotten about him after her improbably narrow escape from death. And even when she had mentioned him afterwards, the idea that he was still alive and lurking here somewhere had failed to cross her mind. What a mistake to make, especially in a battlefield, and now she was going to pay for it.

"Yes," Blaise replied, sounding very happy at the fact, or maybe it was the position of his knife that gave him such a good mood. "Your boyfriend tried to kill me, of course, but I managed to escape. It seems that so did he."

Draco fisted his hands. They were still empty, not that he would have dared to raise a wand even if he had had one. However swift his movements might be, Blaise would still have ample time to slice her throat. And by the look in his eyes, he was going to do it anyway.

"Told you I had a cleverer way to kill you," he boasted. "That's the same knife Pansy wanted to cut you open with. I suppose your death is a way to honour her memory."

"You touch her, Zabini, and you are dead," Draco promised, trying to stay calm and sound threatening.

"You are wandless, Malfoy," he sneered. "And now let's see how your girlfriend bleeds. Muddy blood or not, what do you think?"

Hermione took a deep but careful breath, for the knife was still there against her throat.

"I came because I knew I had to be here," she said. "I don't know why or how exactly, but I just got this very intent feeling that I had to come here. I'm sorry, Draco. For breaking the promise."

Draco got a silly urge to either laugh or shake her, or perhaps both. She was this close to a horrible death and she apologized for saving his life? Didn't she know... she had to know...

"You saved my fucking life, Hermione!" he shouted, about to let out some of the things he had wanted to say to her for a long time. So perhaps the setting wasn't perfect with Blaise holding a knife at her throat but life seldom is.

"Well, I didn't. Technically," she just had to answer, stupid girl not realizing that it was his time to talk, or at least yell. "I think it was Voldemort's curse that made Blaise's stray from its path, so it was really Voldemort who saved both of our lives."

"No!" Draco roared. "You saved my life, and not by being ready to die for me, which was a bloody stupid thing to do! You saved my life by surviving! You saved my life by giving it a meaning! You saved my life by loving me! And don't you dare apologize for breaking your promise and coming back, because even though it was stupid and dangerous and you shouldn't have done it, you came back to me! Because you gave me a chance to hold you in my arms again and listen to your breathing. And that saved my life, Hermione! Or Astraea, or whatever else you want to call yourself, I don't care. You are what you are, no matter how you dress or speak or act, and you are the woman I love, the woman I will love till the hour of my death. Whatever you do, however bad you treat me, this will not change. Too much has happened, you said so, and I agree, too much has indeed happened. But not enough, love, to change my feelings for you. Not nearly enough. Just let me show you this. Let me make you happy. Let me make you love me again. Let me... take care of you, protect you, love you. Let me hold you in my arms again. Let me have you, even though your friend is right and I don't deserve you."

His yelling had stopped a while ago, and the last words were spoken in whisper, followed by a long silence, as even Blaise seemed too surprised to say a thing. Hermione, however, recovered first.

"No," she said. "Ron is wrong. It is I who don't deserve you, not the other way around. Blaise, will you take me back?"

"What?" Draco and Blaise exclaimed together, then proceeded to both stare stupidly at her. She smiled at the dark man behind her.

"Just give me one kiss," she purred. "I know I can change your mind."

Blaise, looking like his mind was already changed, allowed her to slowly turn around, not removing the blade from her neck. He gave Draco a glance, warning him against any funny business, then sent the same look to Hermione and bent his head to kiss her.

Draco continued to stare stupidly. Whatever answer he had expected her to give him, this had clearly not been one of them. And before he could even think about anything else, the scene in front of his eyes changed drastically.

Blaise let out some strange noise, something between a moan and a whimper. His hand holding the knife twitched and Draco cried out in panic but the next moment had Blaise dropping to his knees, a very surprised look on his face and something long and thin protruding from the side of his face. He stayed there for a while as if frozen, then there was a glint of metal, and as a jet of blood spurted from his ear, he let out one more groan and crumpled on the ground.

Turning his eyes away from the sick and probably dead bastard, he saw Hermione standing with a bloody knife in her hand and a somewhat dangerous smile on her face.

"Oh, this is mine," she said, noticing him stare at the blade. "One of the first things I learned from Blaise was that while your wand is something you can do without only in your grave, hiding a knife up your sleeve won't hurt either."

"At least," she added, looking down at the body of Blaise in a growing pool of his blood, "it won't hurt me."

Draco stared stupidly at her for another moment, but then her smile turned from perilous to dazzling, and he simply couldn't help himself, quickly crossing the distance between them and pulling her into his embrace yet again. She didn't protest.

"I don't deserve you," she spoke in a long moment. "But I want you and I want to be with you, and I've grown accustomed to getting what I want."

Too happy to argue with her, Draco simply smiled.

---

It was Harry who stumbled upon them a few minutes later, and for a while he stood still, grinning at the cuteness and cuddling that was happening in front of him. Merlin knew he needed something sweet to look at after all the horrors he had passed by on his way there. But the others expected him back soon and therefore he made his presence known.

"It seems I own Ginny ten Galleons now," he remarked, managing a very small smile as they both turned to look at him.

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "Is Ginny alright?"

"Yes," he nodded. "She has a few scratches and bruises, a sore ankle, and a bump on her head but otherwise she is unhurt. Madam Pomfrey has made her lie down in the Hospital Wing, where we have taken those less seriously injured."

"You should go there, too," he added after a short pause, taking in her bloody face.

"How about Ron? And the other Weasleys? And Neville? And... and everybody else?"

"Ron is fine. Charlie was taken to St. Mungo's in a critical state, but I haven't heard about him since then. The rest of his family is with him, they are all alive and mostly unhurt. Neville should be helping Madam Pomfrey with some potions, and as to the rest... well, some are still here, some went after the fleeing Death Eaters, some are at St. Mungo's recovering, some are somewhere else."

"And some are dead."

"Yes," Harry nodded grimly, briefly glancing at the massive figure of the castle standing against the greyish sky. The morning had come with a promise of rain, but not a single drop had fallen, and now it looked it might turn sunny instead.

"You better come with me," he said. Then, noticing the body of Zabini nearby, indicated at it with a tilt of his head, "Is he dead?"

"Yes. I killed him," Hermione stated, not the slightest hint of remorse in her voice.

He just nodded again, saying nothing.

Reluctantly letting go of her, Draco scanned the ground for their wands, found and picked them up, then grabbed Hermione's hand, about to follow Potter. But she didn't move and looked away from his inquisitive gaze.

"I would rather not face Moody at the moment. Although, perhaps the fact that we won the war... we did win the war, right?" she questioned, suddenly anxious. What if Voldemort had managed to get away? What if the war was not over yet? What if this had been just another large-scale battle, but not the last one?

"Yes, we won," Harry grimaced. "But Moody is dead."

"Oh," she replied, realizing she had nothing else to say. This absence of grief bothered her a bit, but she didn't dwell on it. There were other people who didn't like her, of course, and she was sure she would meet some of them rather soon, but now it seemed too late to hide. She had already tried that, but it hadn't worked, judging by the fact that she was back here again.

"We can go home," Draco suggested, noticing her reluctance and discomfort, but she shook her head at that.

"No, we should go and see the others. You could help Neville with the potions and I could assist Madam Pomfrey."

"Yes," Harry agreed. "They'd appreciate the help."

---

The school nurse was indeed very happy to accept their offer, yet while she ordered Draco to the Potions lab right away, she refused to take any assistance from Hermione before she had cleaned herself up. Her protests proved useless, and when she finally glimpsed herself from the mirror in the prefects' bathroom, she couldn't but agree with Madam Pomfrey. All the blood and dirt looked rather awful, but once she had washed it off, all that remained were a few cuts and bruises, and an ugly gash on her left cheek that threatened to leave a scar. She tried to remember how she had got it, but couldn't.

Still, the shower had been refreshing and on her way back to the Hospital Wing she was already feeling considerably better. And when, turning a corner, she saw Neville walking briskly a little way ahead of her, she cried out a happy greeting to him.

It was only when he spun to face her that she noticed the gloomy aura around him, and as soon as his eyes had focused on her, his expression turned from grim to murderous. He had been carrying a vial with blue liquid, which now smashed to the floor as he grabbed for his wand. It was pure instincts that she had her own drawn and pointed the next moment. Fortunately she caught herself in time, remembering that Neville was her friend and she did not want to kill him. Neville, however, didn't seem so sure about either statements.

"You killed her!" he roared. "You killed her and you still dare to show your face here after what you've done!"

"What are you talking about?" she snapped, her harsh tone caused by her confusion and the fact that he didn't look like lowering his wand any time soon.

"Millicent, I'm talking about Millicent!" he shouted, unable to keep his voice down, and not caring who might hear his screaming.

"Millicent? But I didn't..." she said and halted, thinking back to the battle. True, there had been a time after her broom got destroyed that she had duelled pretty much everyone on her way, despite their allegiance. She had needed to get to Blaise, and everyone stopping her had been automatically counted if not as an enemy, then at least as someone she had to get rid of. She hadn't even looked at their faces. Of course, she hadn't used the Killing Curse unless necessary, but she had used it. And if one of those people had been Millicent... she didn't like where her thread of thought was taking her. But if she really had killed Millicent, then only because the woman had fought back. Some people had simply moved out of her way, and she had done nothing to them, some she had attacked first but then only Stunned, yet there had also been those trying to curse her and she hadn't gone easy on them.

"I was only trying to protect myself," she finished her reply.

"Bullshit! You knew exactly what you were doing, and it had nothing to do with self-defence. You wanted your revenge, and now you've got it." His wand was shaking, but in fury.

"Yes, I wanted my revenge, and yes, I've got it," she spoke calmly, wondering how he knew about her coming back to kill Blaise and doing that. But then she recalled that Draco had been sent to help him with potions and the mystery was solved.

"But I didn't want her to die," she confessed, and it was actually the truth. Yes, her relationship with Millicent hadn't been the best, with the Veritaserum incident and the fight, and there had certainly been a time after this fight when she had thought otherwise, but when coming here for the battle and her revenge there had been only one kill on her mind.

"Yes, you did!" Neville screeched. "That's why you told me... you wanted me to doubt in her, to suspect her. That was your plan, your wicked plan. And now you got what you wanted!"

"What are you talking about?" she demanded again. "What do you mean I told you?"

"You told me Moody knows the identity of the spy. You knew he had forbidden me to tell Milla anything about my Sahara mission. You **knew** I would make the connection. You wanted me to make it."

"But... what does that have to do with her death?" Hermione frowned. She remembered saying all this, at Grimmauld Place the night he went away on the mission, and she also remembered her reasons for it. Yes, he was right, she had wanted him to make the connection and start to suspect her, and this way bring some problems into their happy-happy life. Their sickeningly happy life in each others arms, that was annoying her to hell and back. People should not be this happy, especially those that had declared war on her.

Considering it now, she realized it must have been jealousy as well as anger and revenge that had made her do this to Millicent. She couldn't bear seeing anyone else happy while her life had been one big mess. Her life was probably still one big mess.

"You wanted to break us up! You wanted me to leave her! Well, I did and now she is dead!"

"But..."

"No more excuses! You are evil and I know it. And the Order knows it. And if you think for one moment that you can get away without paying for everything you did, then let me enlighten you. You can't! You will pay for each and every little thing you did, and I will make sure of it. In fact, I think it's time for you to start paying," he finished darkly, and his wand stopped shaking.

She waited for the blow to come, but it didn't. Instead his expression turned quite serene, and he even glanced down at the small pool of blue potion at his side, and Hermione, suddenly too tired to fight anymore, put away her wand.

Which turned out to be a mistake as the next moment she was hit by his curse, and tumbled down to the floor, gritting her teeth and counting seconds, just like she had always done when Pansy and Blaise had cast a _Crucio_ at her.

Surprisingly, the pain only lasted half a minute, which was very short compared to her previous torturers. Also, the air was once again filled with screaming, only it didn't sound like Neville. There were two voices, both very familiar. _Very_ familiar.

When she stood up, she saw none other than Ron and Harry, the former holding back a struggling Neville, the latter walking towards her.

"You all right?" he asked, sounding so concerned that she wanted to cry and yell, but only nodded, then glanced at the redhead.

"Are you all right, Ron? How's Charlie?"

"Not so good," he replied, shaking his head. "Charlie, I mean. The healers are not telling us much, saying that it's still too early to be sure about anything, but it doesn't look too good."

"I'm sorry," she said with genuine sympathy.

"Yeah. But I'm still glad to see you."

"What?" Neville shouted. "You are **glad** to see her? Have you forgotten what she did to us, what she did to you? She used you, Ron, and then threw away. And, Harry, don't you remember that she tried to kill Ginny?"

"Yes, but that was Astraea," Harry explained, looking at her for reassurance. "Now she is back to Hermione. Right?"

"I... I don't know," she admitted. "I don't think it's that easy. I mean, I'm still the same person. Perhaps I've changed a bit, but not because... well, I just realized some things, and now..."

By the looks on Harry's and Ron's faces, they didn't like or understand what they were hearing. Only Neville seemed slightly triumphant.

"Ginny was right," she stated. "I had a reason, a purpose. I wanted to survive because I wanted to revenge Blaise for everything he did to me, and I wanted to revenge him to be free. Free of all that he taught me to be, all that he forced me to be. I felt I needed to be the person he made me to be in order to beat him. I think I was right. But now... now I'm free, or at least I should be.

"I don't know. It didn't start like this. At first he simply convinced me that I had too much to lose with dying, and I had had some very bad nightmare, and I believed him. But then he trained me to be ruthless and strong and independent, and then I started to hate him more and more for commanding and controlling me. I wanted to be what I wanted, not what he or anyone else wanted. But he was too strong for me back then, and I had no other choice but to become what he wanted me to be.

"And now..."

"And now you are free from that bastard," Harry finished for her. "And you can be yourself again."

"Yes, I suppose you are right," Hermione said, giving up on explaining them something she couldn't quite understand herself. "And I'm really sorry for all that I did to you. When I think back to all those horrible things I said and did..."

"That's okay, Hermione. We forgive you. Right, Ron?"

"Yeah, of course," Ron nodded.

"Really?" she asked in surprise, not quite believing it yet.

"Yeah. Harry told me you helped him beat Voldemort. And you're here now, ready and willing to help others."

"It was nothing, just a small spell."

"Which would have almost cost you your life," Harry said wisely, and at her puzzled expression, added, "Malfoy told me."

"Oh."

They stood in a silence for a while, smiling a bit at each other, yet there was some awkwardness in the air, some distance between them that hadn't been there before. She figured it was because too much had happened, and even through they had forgiven her, they still needed some time. And she felt she needed some time, too.

"Well, you should go," Harry said at last. "Pomfrey is waiting for you. And so is Ginny."

"Yes, I must go," she agreed, sent them both another smile and turned to walk away.

"Well, I am not going to forgive you, bitch!" Neville shouted after her. "You killed Millicent and I will make you pay for it!"

---

It had been a long night, which was now followed by a long day. The people resting and recovering in the Hospital Wing hadn't suffered anything too serious, which meant that they were either awake or about to wake soon, and then each and every one of them had something to ask from her; she was flooded with inquiries about the battle, about the survivors, about the latest news in the Wizarding world, about the Ministry's account of events, and when it came to the members of the Order, about her condition, and her previous location, and a full story about what had really happened to her.

Hermione healed their wounds, administered the correct potions, and told them as much as she knew; not that all were content with it, demanding her to go and find out more at once.

Only Ginny went easy on her, patting the side of her bed invitingly and merely listening to anything she wanted to say.

"I was right, wasn't I?" the redhead smiled. "You had a purpose, and you figured it out."

"Yes. Thank you, Ginny."

"No problem. I hope you'll do the same for me, should I ever turn an evil scheming manipulating bitch."

"I think it's too late for you," Hermione teased, and they laughed together at the joke. But then Ginny turned serious again, probably thinking about Charlie, and Hermione left her to tend to the other patients.

She saw Harry and Ron a couple of times, and Draco came to check on her rather too often, and then Neville passed her by once or twice, casting her a deadly glare but no more curses.

And then the day was somehow over, the Hospital Wing was nearly empty with only a few people staying overnight, and Madam Pomfrey had more or less thrown her out, saying that she needed sleep just as much as anyone else, if not more.

Hermione, suddenly realizing just how tired she was, wandered the empty hallways of the school for a little while, but she had been away so long, if not astronomically then at least emotionally, and everything looked so strange, and so deserted, and so damn depressing. She debated the idea of going to Gryffindor common room, also empty as all the children had been sent away to their homes before or during the battle, some brave seventh years after it, and Hogwarts itself was going to be closed for a few days, or perhaps weeks.

But she didn't because she wasn't feeling like going there, and because she knew that Neville would be spending the night there. So she went outside instead, took a deep breath of the fresh evening air, and let her eyes slide over the now also empty battlefield. She didn't know where the dead had been taken, or who had done it, but she didn't care either. She walked around a bit, thinking back to the fight. Someone had taken away her broken broom, as well. She couldn't have cared any less.

She thought about her little cabin in New Zealand. She thought about Marcus Flint, the runaway Death Eater, hiding himself from the Dark Lord and constantly worrying about his sister who had refused to come with him. He had been the one to tell her about the battle, or at least "something huge that is going to happen". He had felt his master's call, and he had told her about it, and she had watched him Apparate away, still not sure about her own decision.

She had sat there, in front of her cabin, letting the wind stroke her cheeks and play with her hair. She had sat there several minutes before standing up, going inside, grabbing her broom, and making her move.

She wondered whether she should go back there.

She walked to the gates because all the previous protective charms had been restored, and she couldn't Apparate from the school grounds.

At the gates she stopped, slumped down, hid her face in her hands, and didn't move for a long time.

"Hermione? Hermione, are you all right? Are you asleep, love?"

She raised her head at that because she was not asleep, but she wasn't so sure about the answer to the other question. Sure, she was alive and unhurt, her friends (except for Neville) had forgiven her, the Order had more or less accepted her explanation, Blaise was dead, and she was finally free from him. But she still knew that Harry was wrong about her. She wasn't the person she had been before all this, and she thought that it was only natural. Because she had been kidnapped, tortured, tortured some more, treated as a possession, lent out for others to have their fill... it would be abnormal if she were still the same after all this.

She had killed Blaise and felt no remorse, and would have done it again without a moment's hesitation. Given the choice between killing Blaise and throwing him to Azkaban, she would have picked the first. And she felt that this behaviour was more Astraea and less Hermione.

And yet there had been something else that had made her come back, something other than her revenge. She didn't understand it, and tried to ignore it, but she couldn't deny having felt an intense need to return. And then there was her extra stupid move, the one that had taken her in front of a Killing Curse and if not for an extremely lucky coincident, into the realm of death, as well. She had done it without thinking, and already that was saying a lot, since she hardly ever did anything so thoughtlessly.

In attempt of finding an explanation for this, a very peculiar idea had shot through her mind. Perhaps this was why she had come back. Perhaps revenge was only a smokescreen, and the only reason behind her surviving had been the need to make the very silly move that had almost got her killed. She had tried to brush this thought away as nonsense, but it refused to go and she had let it alone after a while. She still considered it utterly ridiculous, though.

Because, for crying out loud, she didn't even love him. She had loved him once, and she knew he loved her, and she wanted him and to be with him. But she didn't love him. Or at least she didn't think she loved him. She could be wrong. After all, she had been wrong about being dead. And she had been ready to give her life for him, even though 'ready' was probably not the right word, because it had all happened too fast for her to accept the fact that she would be dying for him. She didn't think she would have accepted it, had she had the time. Then again, she could be wrong about this, as well.

But now it was late and she had been awake clearly too long, and somewhere there was a warm bed waiting for her. Perhaps in New Zealand.

"Hermione?" Draco repeated as she didn't answer.

She looked into his tired eyes full of concern, and tenderness, and love, and the promise of a future that would not be perfect and all sunshine, but still worth it. Definitely worth it.

Her cabin in New Zealand had to wait. Perhaps Marcus would like to have it? She had heard Ron mention him, somehow in connection with that new girl of his, Lilya. She hadn't really listened but from what she had heard she could gather that Marcus had saved that girl, carried her away from the battle when everyone around thought her dead, and once he had made sure she was safe and in good care, he had disappeared, running away from Aurors this time.

Perhaps Lilya was the sister he was so worried about? Perhaps not, but that was certainly someone else's problem, especially tonight.

"Take me home, love," she replied, closing her eyes and leaning her head against his chest, as he picked her up and Apparated them both away, into their apartment.

She fell asleep to the sound of his heartbeat, and instead of the usual red and black her dreams were blue and golden with the promise of a future, a future that would not be perfect and all sunshine, but definitely worth it.

* * *

**End Note: **Well, here's your (mostly) happy ending. :) Gotcha, didn't I? Heh, what can I say, I do love the twists in storyline. And oh how I loved that ironic part of Voldemort saving their lives. Ahh, that was great, wasn't it? And now you can also see why I couldn't give you any hints about the ending. 

I can't believe this story is over, can you? Well, maybe because it isn't. :D Yup, I got an idea and now I'm writing the epilogue. So, see you again one more time!


	28. Epilogue

_I would like to thank all my readers and reviewers for staying with me till the end. I hope that you have enjoyed reading this story at least as much as I enjoyed writing it. And I truly hope that all my reviewers (past, present, and future) know just how much their reviews mean to me - A LOT; you have all been amazing and I really, really appreciate your effort. :)_

* * *

**Everything To Lose**

_**Epilogue**_

She placed the mug of cocoa on the table in front of him, then proceeded to make tea for herself, shivering slightly from a coldness that had nothing do with the biting wind outside. She knew that she would not get rid of it completely, but hot tea, cosy room, and good company was the best cure she had found so far. It was nice and warm in the kitchen at the Burrow, which had become their unofficial meeting spot now that the war was over and Grimmauld Place seemed to be holding too many bad memories, and the current company couldn't have been much better either.

"What plans do you have for today, Lilya?" Neville asked, taking a sip of his drink and sending her an attentive glance.

"Wizengamot again," she replied, and the frosty feeling intensified.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, feeling rather horrified and angry at himself for having forgotten it. She had told him this only a few days ago, and Ron had mentioned something just this morning, but somehow he had still managed to be an inconsiderate bastard.

"I'm so sorry, Lilya," he apologized to her. "I don't know what I was thinking, I should have remembered this. I am a bad friend."

"It's okay, Neville. Don't torture yourself," she said with a small smile. Even if his forgetfulness had hurt her, the genuine remorse and sympathy reflecting from his eyes and face would have told her louder and clearer than any words that he truly cared for her. But she didn't need to be reassured because she knew all about his demons and the rough time he was going through.

"I can come with you," he offered, still feeling bad about it.

"No, you don't have to. It's not the final thing anyway. They are just making some sort of a summary of all the evidence and testimonies, and see if there's anything else they need to know before the big decision."

"I'm sure they'll let him go," he tried to assure her. "Harry testified for him, and his word weighs quite a lot these days. And he did save your life. The Wizengamot can't convict him after that."

"Get real, Neville! Marcus is my brother and I love him a lot and I hope with all my heart that the verdict will be in his favour, but even I can't deny that he was a Death Eater. True, he did give himself up and has shown a decent amount of penitence for his sins, but they can't let him go just because his sister happens to know the great Harry Potter. That's not fair."

"Still, I hope they will go easy on him," he stated softly, ignoring her rant, aware of how hard all this had been on her. "Are you sure you don't want me to accompany you?"

"Ron is coming with me," she replied, smiling again. He nodded with understanding and acceptance, again wondering when these two would get officially together. He had enough reasons to believe that what Ron and Lilya had was more than friendship. The signs were all there: the recent conversation between her and Molly Weasley that had somehow gone from cooking to children, also including the part of Ron really needing a good woman to take care of him; the way they were both breathing heavily and blushing furiously when Ron had finally opened his door to their knocking; the fact that not only was this one of the main subject of gossip amongst everybody else, but there were also several bets involved. And even though he had five Galleons on Lilya being the first to admit their relationship, all he really wanted was her to be happy.

"And you? Doing something special tonight?" Lilya questioned in turn.

"Just the usual," he said. "Go home, tend to my plants, read some good book, visit Milla..."

He saw the look in her eyes, the concerned but exasperated look, and gazed back defiantly, aware of what was to come next.

"Neville," she began carefully. "It's been six months. I don't think it's good for you to go to her grave every day. She wouldn't want that. She would want you to move on, to let go of her, to live and be happy."

"I promised to bring her yellow tulips every day, and I intend to keep my promise," he stated stubbornly. They had had this conversation before, more often than he cared, and he knew that she wouldn't leave it at this. But he also knew that he would stand by his words, and his promise, whatever arguments she might come up with to change his mind and make him see just how unhealthy his present behaviour was.

Just as he had expected, she started to say something more, but at that moment the door burst open, and three more people entered the kitchen, laughing and clinging to each other for support.

They looked just like back in school – the inseparable friends, the golden trio – Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Except that they didn't. The differences, although quite ignorable at first glance, were all there. For one, they all looked much older and wiser than they should have been at their age. Harry and Ron both emitted an aura of deep subconscious dreariness, some shadow lurking in the depths of their eyes and slipping over their faces even when they were happy and laughing; something that spoke of the loss of friends and family, the horrors of war, the guilt for not doing more, and the knowledge that some mistakes could not be corrected. They lived with the burden of the past, the burden of the people they had killed and those they hadn't been able to save, and in the darkest hours the distinction between them disappeared.

Hermione was the only one who looked as if the war had left no mark on her, and ironically, also the only one who had been marked by something visible to all. The deep gash on her cheek had left a scar, just like she had feared, but instead of hiding it with glamour spells or at least being miserable for it marring her face like this, she wore it like a badge of honour, like an Order of Merlin, First Class. And she never got that dark look when they discussed the war and all its terrors.

And Neville hated her for that. He hated her for being so calm and collected about dozens of people losing their lives, he hated her for seemingly not taking any responsibility, and he hated her for accepting his hatred for her, for not trying to change his mind, for giving him time and space. For not begging him to forgive her. For not even asking for this. Not that he would have forgiven her this easily, but her never even asking made things worse.

Averting his eyes from her, he noticed that the golden trio had not been out on their own, but with two additions - Ginny and Draco, who stood a little way off and conversed in low voices. But this meant, Neville realized, that their whole gang was together again. And then he realized that it wasn't - its most important (for him, at least) member was missing.

"Hey!" Harry suddenly exclaimed, making him startle. "We are all here! This demands a toast!"

The kitchen at the Burrow had always hosted many people, and it felt like only a second before the glasses were placed on the table, the bottle of Firewhiskey had appeared from seemingly nowhere, and Harry was ready to pour a fair share for everyone who wanted it.

"Not for me, please," Lilya politely refused. "I must stay sober for the court."

"Oh, that's right," Harry remembered. "Ron told me about it. Good luck with that."

"Thanks," she said, sipping her tea and feeling much warmer.

"I guess it's a no-no for me, as well," Ron stated nonchalantly, sending Lilya a quick glance which would probably fall prey to gossip after their departure.

"Neville?"

"I'm in," he said, busy with glaring at the table.

In another moment five glasses were filled with amber liquid and handed out; Ron had taken tea for himself after a swift peek into Lilya's cup.

"So, the toast," Harry announced but said no more. He had wanted to drink for them being all together, but 'For us!' felt a bit too selfish, now that he thought about it.

"For friends and friendship!" Ginny cried, raising her glass.

"And for love, as well," she added with a cheeky grin.

"For loyalty," said Harry.

"For future," said Draco.

"For luck," said Ron, toasting with his tea.

"For family," said Lilya.

"For Milla," muttered Neville.

"For freedom," said Hermione and proceeded to drain all her drink in one gulp.

For a while they all sat in silence, sipping their Firewhiskey and tea, and thinking their own thoughts. Lilya stood up from the table first, and as soon as everyone had wished her good luck, she left the building with Ron by her side. Harry and Ginny were next to go, excusing themselves with having to get ready for the Six Months Remembrance Dinner at Hogwarts - a small event for the Professors, where Harry happened to be invited, as well.

"They want him to teach DADA," Ginny had explained.

"Is it really six months?" Neville had then remarked in the a dull voice, thinking about the six bouquets of beautiful yellow tulips that were ready and waiting in his house.

He left soon afterwards, with a poisonous look at Hermione.

---

Draco watched her get up and pour herself another glass of Firewhiskey, yet instead of returning to the table, she leaned her back against the wall and gave him a look - gave him THAT look. He could see that she did it on purpose, wanting him to ask her about it, and he decided to humour her.

"What do you know that I don't?"

"Many things," she said, smirking.

"Name one of them," he smiled, finding her teasing adorable. Despite Neville's observations, she wasn't living without the burden of her past, but of course, it wasn't Neville who had to witness her tossing and turning in the bed at night, waking up covered in cold sweat. And the worst part was that she didn't like to share those dreams with him, sometimes she didn't even let him hold and comfort her, but left the bed and stood hours in front of the window, gazing out into the darkness. And there was nothing he could do to help her because trying to do something had so far only managed to drive her out of the room, to some other window.

She tilted her head, as if wondering whether she should tell him or not, then announced,

"I got Snow Tear."

"What?"

"I said I got Snow Tear."

"I heard you," he spoke patiently. "What is Snow Tear?"

"What do you think it is?"

She was just teasing, but he still considered this.

"A jewel?" he ventured. "Sounds like one."

"I suppose you _can_ call it a jewel," she admitted. "But it would be much more exact to call it a building. Castle, even."

"Snow Tear," he repeated, and the realization hit him before she gave another clue.

"In far north," she said.

"Murmansk?" he rasped, hoping against all hope that she would answer in negative. She didn't.

"Near it, yes."

"I didn't know it had a name," he remarked, not sure what he should think of it.

"I told you there are many things you don't know."

"Yes, I seem quite ignorant, don't I?" he agreed. "I don't know what it was called, I don't know what you mean by saying that you got it, and I don't know why you have brought this up now that I am finally starting to forget about it."

He was angry, and he thought he had every reason to be. It was hard enough seeing it trouble her almost every night, or at least he figured her nightmares had something to do with it as she refused to share them. But even during days, when she seemed happy and he could be happy with her, she sometimes just had to mention some little thing concerning Zabini or her life with him, and she did it casually, like it had been just some normal past relationship that didn't make her cry out in her sleep. Every time he thought they had managed to move on, to leave this in the past, she said something that proved him wrong. Just like she was doing now.

For a moment she looked as if she was going to yell at him, but then collected herself and gave him nothing but a cold look. He wished she had screamed, and not shut him out once again. She was still pretending, that was the harsh truth. She was pretending to be all right, to be back to her former self in the company of her friends. At least she didn't do it when they were alone, but even then she kept her feelings to herself, she didn't share them with him, she didn't let him help her.

"I didn't know the Order put it on sale," he remarked coolly, trying to look as indifferent as she was, but probably failing miserably.

"It didn't," she replied. "It was the Ministry who _tried_ to put it on sale. And I did not buy it. Quite surprisingly, I don't own a secret vault in the depths of Gringotts filled with heaps of gold."

"Then how did you get it?" he asked, getting a bit curious despite himself.

"I inherited it," she said, and downed the rest of her drink.

"You inherited it?" he repeated in astonishment. "But how..."

"Yes," Hermione nodded, noticing the look of shock in his eyes. "Blaise left it to me in his will. And that's why the Ministry couldn't sell it as a confiscated Death Eater property, it didn't belong to a Death Eater any longer."

"Zabini left it to you? I can't believe it. Why would he..."

"Ah," she smirked. "Mystery, isn't it?"

"You know why he did it," he said. It was not a question.

"He left a note," she confessed. "_So that you would never forget the time we spent together._"

Draco's expression darkened, but this time his anger was not directed at her. That bastard! He still wouldn't let her go free. Even after his death he continued to harass her, tried to bind her to him.

"Sell it."

"I can't," she pressed through her teeth.

"What do you mean you can't? Sell it, or give it away, or just get rid of it!"

"I can't!" she yelled, grabbed her empty glass and threw it at the opposite wall.

"I can't," she went on in furious whisper. "I can't sell it, or give it away, or get rid of it. I can't do any of these things. Do you know why? Don't worry, I tell you why. Because the contract will not allow me to! Because the stupid magical contract will not allow me to sell it, or give it away, or get rid of it in any other way. The only thing it does allow me to do is bequeath it to someone, and that seems really great only for this little detail that I have to be dead for it. Which I very well might soon be if _he_ doesn't leave me alone. It's more than enough that he haunts my dreams, but if he starts directing my whole life..."

He watched in horror as she clutched her head with her arms, seeking protection from her invisible torturer.

"Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Make him leave me alone," she sobbed, collapsing down onto the floor.

---

She didn't remember the last time she had cried this much, and it felt great. She was back in their apartment, in their bedroom, in his arms. She was home. And even though she had been there for six months already, it still felt as if she had just arrived from some long, long trip.

He stroked her hair, kissed her forehead, and murmured words of comfort into her ear, and she cried some more. It still felt great.

After a while she fell silent, having run out of tears, but he continued to hold her, not saying a word, probably thinking that she had fallen asleep. She hadn't. It just felt too great, all of it - his warmth, his heartbeat, his breathing, his smell. She didn't move in fear of ruining the moment, but then suddenly realized that she wouldn't. That he would still hold her, and comfort her, and love her. That she didn't need to pretend anything with him.

"Draco?"

"Hmm? You're awake, love?"

"I was never asleep."

There was a pause before he voiced the question.

"Are you all right, love?"

"I am now," she replied.

"Now," he repeated, sounding as if he was crying, too. "But what about tomorrow? And tonight?"

"I don't know. But I think... I think..."

"You think what, love?" his voice was nothing but tenderness.

"I want to go there, Draco," she said, glancing at his face to see his reaction. She had half-expected him to ask what she was talking about, but he didn't. She had thought he would get angry, but he didn't. He just looked back into her eyes and sighed.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?"

"No."

"But you still want to go there?"

"Yes."

"You think it will help you move on?"

"I don't know. I hope."

He sighed again.

"Very well, love. When do we leave?"

"We?"

"We, Hermione, you and me. If you think for one moment that I'll let you go _there_ alone, then..."

She silenced him with a kiss.

"Thank you," she spoke when they finally broke apart.

"I love you," he stated simply and drew her back for another kiss.

_I think I love you, too_, she thought, but instead of telling him, she proceeded to show him.

_**The End**_

* * *

**Note: **Well, now the story is really over. I suppose the epilogue might have not been what you expected, and it wasn't all happy-happy-happy either, but hopefully you liked it anyway. Now, there are a few more things about this story that I'd like to share with you, but you don't have to read them if you don't want to. :) 

_Some facts about the story_

_Idea:_ It came to me from some fanfic I read, where Hermione (I think) got herself in a deadly situation and then faced her future killer with defiant pride and announced that she had nothing to lose. And that got me thinking that there's almost always something to lose and sometimes you have too much to lose and then you simply can't afford to die. At first this was going to be a long and sad and very angsty one-shot about breaking Hermione's spirit, demolishing that indifferent resigned attitude to her impending death through lots of emotional terror, but as you can see, I changed my mind.

_Deaths:_ I don't think I ever intended to kill either Hermione or Draco. I can't remember my very first ideas about the ending, but while I did want her to save him life somehow, I didn't want her to die. At one point I was going to kill Neville and let Milla live, at another time I decided to kill them both. I also toyed with the idea of letting Marcus die for Lilya. Moody was destined to die from the beginning. In chapter 19 Kingsley and Hestia go on a mission and never return - originally it was Kingsley and Tonks.

_Lilya Doonlen:_ I didn't plan to write an original character. But my beta said that there had to be someone for Ron. And then she said that she likes Ron. And me, the sneaky thing I am, put those two sentences together and brought in Lilya, a character who has represented my beta in several silly (non-fanfic) stories we have written together.

_Sequel:_ Yes, I might write one. Yes, I even have an idea. No, I'm not going to write it in the near future. No, you can't change my mind about it. Yes, I might be wrong. :P

Hmm, I think this is all that I wanted to say. If you have any more questions, please feel free to ask them. :)

_THANK YOU ALL AGAIN FOR YOUR SUPPORT. :) TILL WE MEET AGAIN!__**  
**_


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